Something Strange
by smallgarden
Summary: Strange things happen in small towns. The Bechloe high school thriller/mystery/ not sure how to classify this AU that nobody ever asked for. T for now but I'll likely bump the rating later on.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm not totally sure where this came from. Maybe it's because I've definitely been reading too much Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk and generally just watching too many scary movies recently. So, this is a nod to them. Please R &R- much appreciated!**

* * *

Inhale.

Take in as much air as you can.

This story should last as long as you can hold your breath, and then a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

* * *

Beca rose from the garden, where she'd been working, when a violent gust of wind sent her hair blowing into her mouth and she observed the dark grey storm clouds to the east. Surprisingly, she hadn't quite noticed how the air had changed; hot and lavender with a night storm coming in.

There had been a lot of storms coming in lately.

A moment later, she heard the knob of the back patio door clatter against the wood siding of the house; thrown open in a haste of anger. It makes her stiffen.

" _Rebeca Mitchell!_ " And the piercing voice of her mother pushes through the humidity of the air and- oh god, she knows where this is going- Beca is kicking up the dirt around the magnolias she'd just spent the last hour planting as she flees the area- immediately. There are stomping footsteps coming down the patio stairs that she can hear, but she's already leaping the short fence around the garden and high-tailing it towards the bike resting against the side of her house. "You get back here, or I swear to God!"

She stutters to a halt around the bike, disengaging it from the wall and quickly hopping aboard, pushing the pedals into movement. It was only a matter of time before one thing too many stacked upon the crumbling pedestal and it came around to bite her.

This was that moment.

And Wendy can swear to all the Gods she wants- but Beca is swearing to _her_ god that she is _not_ going to be around to face that wrath when it's straight from the hell-fire.

Pinching the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, she resists the urge to look back at the woman over her shoulder, instead opting to zoom out of the driveway. Dust following her tracks as she pedals her legs as fast as she can down the road, away from the shouts that had already ceased because if there's one thing Wendy Mitchell doesn't like to do; it's cause a scene in public.

Beca cuts through the dirt trail behind her neighbour's house, into the direction of the storm.

* * *

"Put your back into it, Chloe."

Groaning, Chloe heaves the pitchfork into the earth, using the moment to lean back- a series of cracks rippling along her spine. Next to her, Aubrey sighs, blonde hair spilling around her face as she tilts her head to look at the other girl.

As if sensing some of his owner's exasperation, the horse on the other side of the fence snorts impatiently. It prompts Aubrey back into moving, hefting a pitcher of hay over the fence and into the trough. "It's not," Aubrey grunts, repeating the action. "that difficult."

Throwing the girl a desperate look from the corner of her eyes, Chloe pulls the fork back from out of the ground and returns to the bail. "Says the girl who's been doing this every day since she was six." Furrowing her brow, she prods at the bail, a vain attempt at trying to loosen some of the hay from it. It sort of works, and she manages to loosen a few pathetic tufts. Another horse whinnies.

"We still have three more troughs to go," Aubrey points out, muck boots stomping over mud on the ground and old, rotting hay. The girl gently places a hand on Chloe's shoulder, guiding her away from the bail and raising her own pitchfork, expertly removing a layer from the bail and unravelling the thing. "and there's a storm coming in. Now," The blonde points to the heaps of loose hay now on the ground, moving back over to the one she'd been working at. "get that."

There's a soreness already blanketing her shoulders and biceps, and she sighs, folding her hands atop of the pitchfork for a moment, sulking down at the pile of hay now on the ground. But Aubrey was right. There _was_ a storm coming in, could feel it's static undercurrent in the air, blowing through the wind that was gradually building strength. And so before her best friend can berate her again, she sends the fork through the pile, heaving up a clump and half-waddling towards the trough Aubrey had just dumped into.

"You're still coming with me in that music thing Mrs. Abernathy is doing, right?" Aubrey asks again, pausing to rub the back of her free hand against the perspiration on her forehead. Chloe nods, sticking the pitchfork into the hay on the ground again.

"Yeah. Of course." Aubrey smiles in response, heaving another clump into an empty trough.

"Oh good. I think it'll be beneficial to have some more extracurriculars." And then she ponders for a moment, before shrugging. "Even though we don't really need them."

"I think the music thing will be cool." Chloe winces as she hauls the hay over the fence again, the nearest horse throws it's head back in response to nearly being pegged in the face. Glancing over her shoulder, Chloe inspects Aubrey, who had her back turned, _thank God._

Within a few minutes, the first crack of thunder broke out. It rains a lot in September.

* * *

There were good things and bad things to be said about the situation.

A good thing being that Beca no longer needs to take Grade 12 Chemistry, like she would have had to otherwise. Which- _no._ The bad thing being literally everything else about the circumstance she now finds herself in, with her _'D_ ' block class being spent in an uncomfortable blue plastic chair in the old band room at the back of the school that went mostly unused ever since band was cut back in her freshman year. Since then, it had been sort of re-purposed into a multi-use room.

She's got nine other women in a similar position, and at the front of the room, Mrs. Abernathy. In all of her blonde up-do, high-heeled glory. In Beca's humble opinion, she was much too good looking to be a high school teacher but hey, what did she know?

After yesterday's panic fueled flee from her house, she'd spent the night at Amy's- who also happened to be in the room today- the only person who she somehow, some way, managed to tolerate enough to call a friend over the past seventeen years of her life. Of course, her mother had called the house looking for her, but since Amy's mother was a brute force who gave absolutely _zero_ fucks, the woman had gone ahead and spewed out the lie that Wendy's daughter wasn't actually there- not caring how unconvincing it may have been. Wendy didn't care enough to actually come over there and drag Beca out by the ear, though, so. It might as well been sold.

"Alright," The woman greets, once everyone has been seated. Awkwardly, Beca takes in the other's in the room.

Barden isn't a big town. Beca knows everyone there, although half she'd never had a conversation with.

"You're all in here today because you don't have enough extracurriculars to graduate." The woman pauses, pondering for a moment. Shifting in her seat, Beca tilts her head towards Amy, who does the same. "Well, _most_ of you."

She already knows who the woman's talking about. The blonde in the front row, with the posture of a British royal, and who was the spearhead of literally everything- and that alone could have deterred Beca from joining all extracurriculars, had she not already been unable to care. But well, maybe she should have sucked it up because look where she is now.

And beside Aubrey; her lapdog, Chloe. Who, Beca could admit seemed slightly less intolerable due to the fact that she was nowhere near as loudly opinionated or obsessive. But still, nonetheless; a lapdog, padding along at Aubrey's heels, obeying her every beck and call, as far as Beca is concerned.

And so it's no surprise that mega-kiss-ass Aubrey Posen was so over the top that she'd willingly want to join any and _all_ extracurriculars, and that her pet would be joining her. Even if it was meant as a passing grace for those less... keen.

The look of distaste Beca is giving Amy is mirrored, and she finds a silent solidarity in that. They were totally going to complain about this later- and by the sounds of it, they're going to have a lot of Posen-related remarks over the next few months.

"It's an all year course," Mrs. Abernathy continues, pulling up another one of the plastic blue chairs from the sidelines of the room and sitting down, crossing her legs over one another and planting her hands atop of her knees. "Which means every _'D'_ block, you will be here, with me. Our goal," And then she prattles on and on about music and the _joys_ of it- which Beca gets. She's all about the music, really; but this isn't her mixing program on her laptop, and outside of that, her interest sort of plateaus. Because she's certain that whatever this course was going to be offering was not the kind of music she was gung-ho about.

She's just glad that they skip all the introduction bullshit because Mrs. Abernathy is smart enough to realise that everyone knows everyone and therefore, that's totally unnecessary.

It becomes clear that it would pretty much be a sleeper class if it weren't for Posen, however. And her uptight, yet _absurdly_ chipper outlook on the whole thing. Her sole focus alone seems to be enough to keep the teacher motivated, and therefore, _pressing_. Pressing sheet music, pressing ideas in form of a brainstorm on the chalkboard that was mostly just a conversation between her and the other, younger blonde. But when the bell rings, Beca is snatching her jacket from the back of the chair and zipping out of the room faster than you could say ' _Bellas_ '- the word amidst the middle of the chalkboard-brainstorm-bubble.

"Did you listen to anything in there?" Amy asks, idly and without any sort of judgement in her voice as she manages to fall into step with the shorter girl.

"Yeah, uh, no- not at all." Beca admits with a laugh, crossing the mostly empty cafeteria while the few others continued to filter out of the room behind them. "Not my thing, Amy."

"Right," Fat Amy- which should be an insult, but considering the girl introduces herself as Fat Amy to anyone who asks, it just kind of sticks, and it's actually a little bit empowering. Beca's not sure how it started, even after all this time- all she knows that when Amy moved here from Tasmania back in the eighth grade, that was how she had introduced herself to the class, and whenever a teacher tried to curb the negatory reference to herself, she only did so more passionately. Eventually, they stopped. And Amy was happy. "But- all year?"

Beca shrugs. "I've bullshitted my way through courses all year before," Taking a right turn down the hall, Beca begins pulling her arms through the sleeves of her jacket. "this is nothing new. We're just getting the credits." Stopping at her locker, she lifts her hand to the lock, routinely spinning the combination.

Amy sort of hums, walking a few lockers down before stopping at her own. Tugging open the lock, Beca grabs her bag and shoulders it, slamming the thing shut just as fast. Amy glances at her over her shoulder as she opens her own locker. "Are you going home?"

Beca sighs. "Yeah." She really wouldn't like to, but she can only avoid for so long. "Have to at some point. Might as well not drag it out."

Pulling her own, horrifically furry coat from the depths of her equally horrifying locker- somehow full of wrappers and papers despite it only being a week into the school year- Amy pulls her arms through it. "Well, phone me, yeah? Let me know the big BM hasn't been murdered."

Grimacing at the nickname, Beca agrees anyway. Maneuvering the halls and pushing her way out of the front doors, she heads towards the bike she has chained to the fence on the far side of the parking lot. Like a total dork. But whatever- she just hasn't gotten around to getting her license yet, partially due to the fact that she's positive that she will fail because she maybe has a collective three hours of driving experience under her belt.

Getting the chain undone, she drops her backpack onto the ground and stuffs it inside before climbing on, pedalling her way out of the lot and in the direction of her home. She passes a few students heading towards their vehicles, and pointedly avoids the puddle near Posen because she's not a _total_ dick; no matter how much satisfaction she thinks it'd bring her.

* * *

"I _hate_ her." Aubrey hisses, pulling open the driver's side door of her yellow Jeep Wrangler with much more force than necessary. Chloe, hand patiently resting on the handle at the passenger's side, resists the instinctual urge to ask _'who?_ ' because really, she already knows.

Aubrey doesn't like a lot of people, but she doesn't hate a lot of people, either.

When she hears the telltale click of the door unlocking as Aubrey slides into the driver's seat, she opens up, hopping inside and shutting the door behind her. Again, with much less force than her friend on the other side of the vehicle was treating it with. "The _mangy_ ," Aubrey starts venomously, stabbing the key into the ignition and bringing the car to life. Chloe disagrees with _mangy_ being a descriptor for the girl in question, but says nothing. "conniving, evil little trollop!"

In all honesty, as far as Chloe knows- and being Aubrey's best friend, she knows a lot- Stacie Conrad has never done anything blatantly to the girl to deserve such a heinous reaction from the blonde-haired peer. Sure- the two of them had been in silent competition ever since the fifth grade as far as marks went; they were tied for first place for a very long time until Stacie's interests seemed to have taken... a different route. But the girl was damn near a genius- Chloe would know this after being in the same Physics class with her.

Stacie Conrad was the whole package. Beautiful, smart, rich, and she had a high seat on the ranking of Barden popularity; which was a pedestal she and Aubrey sat on, as well.

But from an outsider's perspective, here's the thing; Stacie was just a lot more likeable than Aubrey. Aubrey, who was overbearing at worst and just a little bit straight-laced, at best. And she was competing against Stacie; who was blunt at worst and irresistible at best.

And the girl can deny it all she wants. She's _jealous_ of Stacie.

Who wouldn't be?

"Should you really drive when you're so... worked up?" Chloe offers instead, throwing a reassuring look in Aubrey's direction. Who, in turn, sighs heavily, and the anger appears to deflate from her chest as she absently reaches for the knob on the stereo.

"I was actually planning on doing some breathing exercises before we actually went anywhere." She admits, a hint sheepish. "I understand the possibilities of driving under the influence of rage."

Chloe hums, understanding. "Nothing good." She muses, resting one hand gently against the blonde's shoulder.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Aubrey says, more to herself than Chloe. "that Stacie is in need of extracurriculars. The girl hasn't done anything since ninth grade volleyball, I mean-" Throwing her head back on her shoulders, green eyes search Chloe's helplessly, but with a fiery scorn simmering underneath the surface. "what are her hobbies? Cuticle care and the _E! Network_?"

Chloe shrugs. In truth, she doesn't know much about Stacie Conrad. She doesn't know much about a lot of people, other than what she can read from them, and what she's heard. But, she doesn't really know a lot of people. "I think her family has a lot of Mastiff's?" She suggests half-heartedly, wringing her hands back together in her lap. Upon briefly glimpsing them, she decides she doesn't really think there would be anything wrong with having a hobby in cuticle care. She is in some serious need of it.

Imploringly, Aubrey sighs again, turning her attention to the steering wheel and shifting the car into reverse. "I don't really think that has anything to do with anything, Chlo." Aubrey looks over her shoulder as she slowly backs up the automobile, waiting as a truck passes in the opposite direction before pulling out all the way. Chloe just shrugs again.

"Maybe she knows stuff about Mastiff's, that's all." Aubrey snorts.

"She knows how to be a _bitch_ , that's all."

The sound of sirens cut off Chloe's reply before she can get to it, and she cranes forward in her seat, trying to spot the cars. However, she quickly resorts to just rolling the window down and sticking her head out, just as Aubrey rolls to a stop at the end of the road. "Chloe!" The girl scolds, but she can see the cars. All four of Barden's police force barrelling full-speed in their direction.

"They're headed this way," She informs, glancing at the blonde over her shoulder. Furrowing her brow, Aubrey leans forward in her seat, before quickly dropping back and turning her left-hand blinker on.

Surely enough, a moment later the cars were pulling onto their street- zooming past them, and continuing their course down the road. "I wonder what's going on," Sitting back into her seat, Chloe rolls the window up, but keeps an eye on the retreating vehicles through Aubrey's rear-view mirror, before the girl is completing the turn and they're on their way.

"Probably Wheelchair Richard trying to rob the gas station again." After a moment of quiet thought, Aubrey finally delivers. Chloe isn't sure if she agrees, but laughs anyway.

"You think?"

Aubrey shrugs. "My best guess. Someone needs to stop that man," But she says it through a smile. "Honestly, he's a wackjob."

"Yeah, who cares if he's sixty-two and in a wheelchair. He's already tried robbing that place twice,"

"Exactly!"

"Hey, thanks for driving me home, by the way."

* * *

She hears the sirens long before she sees them.

Pedalling to a halt, Beca drops one foot to the ground and stops, craning her neck over her shoulder to listen to the sound of them echoing among the hills. It sounded like there was a lot of them- but it was hard to tell if it was just the distortion of sound. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, however, she saw them turning onto the highschool road. One after the other- granted, there were only four, but that was the entire Barden force- all with their sirens blaring and roaring along the school zone at a much faster speed than what she would ever be able to get away with.

When they passed her, she was buffeted by gusts of wind following them.

And well, this _was_ interesting.

 _Much more interesting than going home,_ she thinks slyly, before she places her feet back on the pedals and struggles to keep pace with the vehicles.


	2. Urban Legends- Part One

**So happy with the response this has gotten already! You guys are awesome. This chapter was meant to be longer, but since we're nearly pushing 9500 words here, I thought I'd split it in two. Also- I tend to think of the scenes in respects to television layout- so if the formatting isn't smooth or is annoying to read please, let me know and I'll work on that! Thanks a bunch, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She makes it home around six o'clock; sticky with sweat and trembling. Her heart thunders in her chest and her mind is a blank slate, unable to hold onto a single coherent thought for longer than a second, other than the bewildered, semi-detached piece of information she'd found out.

Unsurprisingly, she'd lost the cruisers after not long; but she'd managed to follow the siren sounds across the river, and then- to her disdain- up the back roads of Dixon Mountain. Until, she'd discovered the cars parked along the side of the road, and the one rookie officer manning the cars had barked at her to get away from the scene. Beca, defensive, had claimed that she was just on her way home and pumped farther up the hill, before she stashed her bike along the ditch on the side of the road and hiked into the trees, spying from afar.

She knew that hiking trail. The one the cop cars were parked out in front of. She'd wandered it- once- and it carved through the trees until it reached the meadow lookout at the top, overlooking the town of Barden.

Her first thought was maybe an animal attack. Bear, or mountain lion, maybe.

So she'd camped out, until she was bored out of her mind and worried about spiders crawling on her. Until she was _equally_ concerned that it was about to rain again. Until finally, she'd seen officers wandering back down from the trail. She'd strained to hear, but eventually, she'd put together what was going on.

Denise Walker was dead.

Denise, who Beca had known since the second grade when she moved here; who was polite and generally nice and Beca never really had anything against.

She couldn't- _can't_ \- wrap her head around it. She'd sat there on her ass until it _did_ actually start raining, and the cool drops were enough to shake her out of it and get her stumbling back down to where she'd left her bike. She'd pulled up her hood and ignored the burning in her thighs from the trek up here, allowing gravity to pull her back downhill. The cops gathered around their cars had glared at her as she passed, but she tried to act as nonchalant as possible.

Little would they know that by the time she hit the bottom of the hill she had managed to miss a rock in the road during her stupor, and she totally ate shit. Now her palms were all scuffed up and bleeding but that's okay, she didn't feel it. She'd simply climbed back on and continued on her way, knowing something she's certain no one else she passed on her way home knew.

She isn't sure how it happened.

She's sure she'll here about it soon.

And when she lets the bike fall carelessly in her front yard as she climbs back down from it, she sort of waddles up her front porch steps and pushes the door open, collapsing into the nearest chair at the breakfast table as soon as she nudges it shut again with her foot. Within seconds there's stomping coming up from the basement stairs, but that barely registers.

"Rebeca Mitchell!"

Grimacing, she pulls her shoes from her feet and tosses them to the shoe closet in the corner. Her mother, a moment later, appears on the top of the stairs with a laundry basket in hand and firm scowl painted across her face. "Where the _hell_ have you been?" The woman demands, her salon-ruined hair flailing around as she rushes forwards.

And she's sure it's top secret information. So for one bizarre second she wonders if she should keep her mouth shut; not that the woman has any friend's to gossip to anyways. "Denise Walker," She gargles thickly, pinching her lower lip between her thumb and index finger, nodding along to herself for reasons she doesn't quite comprehend. Her mother just furrows her brow. "She's uh- she died, I guess." Before the woman can begin questioning her further.

Wendy's face of anger morphs into one of confusion, and she tucks the laundry basket tighter against her side, wandering over to place it atop of one of the granite countertops. "What?"

"I just- I heard the cops say that Denise Walker is dead." Beca shrugs, running her hands along the side of her face; the sting from her skinned palms finally alerting her to the injury's presence. She drops them back down to her lap. "I saw all the cop cars and I just wanted to follow them and that's what I heard."

"Who-" Her mother shakes her head, "who is Denise Walker?"

Makes sense. Her mother knows about six names of students outside of her own daughter. "She's in my grade." Beca explains, and then falters. "Or she _was_."

Some noise of sympathy leaves her mother then. "Oh, honey that's terrible!" She crows, but for some reason, it doesn't sound all that genuine and Beca comes to the moment before her mother engulfs her into a hug.

With a sound of protest, Beca wards her mother of by raising her hands in her direction, catching her mother by the upper arms and pushing her backwards as gently as she can. "No." She hears herself say, clamboring to her feet. "No don't do that."

Indignant, she can see the woman blink rapidly a few times, but can't bring herself to even remotely care. Beca just kind of mumbles something about being in shock and wanting some quiet, and then retreats down the same stairs her mother had just ascended from, into her bedroom, and she shuts the door behind her. There's no lock, but she carefully tucks her desk chair under the knob and haphazardly throws herself onto her duvets.

This could all just be a hallucination. Maybe, she'd overdosed on Red Bull during a mixing binge and this whole day had been one big caffiene-induced vexation. Or she's still at Amy's, asleep and dreaming.

Grasping the sensitive skin of her wrist between her fingers, Beca squeezes, willing herself to wake up if in fact, this was a dream.

It was just another storm rolling in.

* * *

After she had gone separate ways from Aubrey; waving her goodbye as the Jeep had done the full circle around the driveway, past the motel and the diner and back onto the highway- Chloe had shouldered her bag and headed towards the side patio. The rooster cawed from their hutch, and she stooped to give Rusty a little pat between the ears when she crossed paths with the elderly hound asleep on the stairs.

As she pulls the sliding glass door open, her father turns his head at her from where he'd been reading his newspaper at the dining room table. A smile beams across his face in greeting, and he's asking her the same question that's been asked of her since kindergarten.

"How was school?"

And Chloe smiles back, wedging her shoe off of her foot before making it all the way into the kitchen. "Good." The same answer she's been giving ever since kindergarten, as well. "Aubrey and I saw all the cop cars barrelling down town on the way here."

"Oh?" The man raises his thick, greying eyebrows at her. And then he rustles his newspaper again. "Well, I'm sure we'll know by tomorrow."

"Is mom at the diner?" Stepping into the kitchen, Chloe pushes the sliding glass door closed, wandering towards the fridge and pulling it open. She grabs a water bottle off of the top shelf before turning back to face her father. Who, in turn, had returned his attention to the newspaper.

"Yeah, she's cooking today." He hums, flipping a page. Nodding to herself, Chloe cracks open the lid and heads towards the stairs towards the basement. "Oh, Chlo-" She pauses, darting her head back into his line of sight. "Don't forget to feed your rabbit."

"Yup." She murmurs, bottle to her lips and heading back towards the stairs.

The basement was mostly hers. It was fully furnished, with her own recreational room, master-sized bedroom and bathroom, and the second bedroom down there had been converted into an exercise room. Atop of that was the laundry, and a storage room, of course. But other than that- it was all hers. It was great for entertaining.

But it was still nothing compared to Aubrey's, so- she didn't really entertain often.

Humming to herself, she slips into her bedroom, dropping her backpack onto her desk chair and hastily unbuttoning her jeans. Because, honestly, who wears jeans longer than they absolutely have to?

She still wonders about those sirens, though. Not much happens in Barden; sirens were hardly ever used, and the last big deal aside from Wheelchair Richard's incessant hope to rob the gas station at the edge of town, had been when some guy had smoked meth and decided to hold his wife hostage in some kind of murder-suicide that didn't happen, after the SWAT team had been called and surrounded his house for five hours. And that was nearly six years ago. Or occasionally someone would speed through town and they'd pull someone over; once or twice someone had given them a run, but that's it.

Things didn't get interesting here.

Things were affair scandals and teen pregnancies, a low-level pot grow-op or some kind of typical drug bust. Things were not the entire police force blaring through town, and Chloe couldn't understand Aubrey's nonchalant lack of interest in the event. Or her father's, for that matter.

Because it gave her a fluttering eagerness in her chest. The kind that she finds difficult to snuff out, fills her with such an intense need to know that it makes her squirm. All the way into her pyjamas and all the way out to the rabbit hutch, where she'd stopped first at the fridge to grab a stick of celery on her way back outside and when she squatted down next to the little furry white and brown creature. Quietly stroking him behind his ears and watching the cars meander along the highway, half-expecting to hear more sirens come from some direction, towards some exciting destination. That's not the case though. The world is otherwise silent; aside from the cars and the far-off chatter from people walking back to their vehicles from the diner, and the occasional caw of the rooster. But other than the lazy sounds of the world, there was nothing.

When Jersey has finished his little munching on the green vegetable, she rubs at his ears. He was getting old, but Chloe still thinks he looks as sharp as ever.

Closing the door to the hutch as she steps out, Chloe breathes in the air. It smelled like it was going to rain again.

* * *

A shrill ringing rouses her from her half-sleep. Chloe squints through the dim-light pooling in through the window above her bed; a warm orange hue from the motel sign. Blindly, she fumbles around her night stand for the offending device.

"Hel-?"

"Chloe!" The voice on the other end of the phone line is just as shrill as the ringing. With a wince, Chloe pulls the phone from her ear for a moment, before warily bringing it back. Not without leaving a little bit of distance, though.

"Aubrey," Using her opposite hand, she pushes herself upright on the mattress. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I do, Chloe, I own clocks."

Should have expected as much. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she glances over at the electronic clock atop of her dresser. It was quarter to twelve. Chloe had dozed off some time ago, while trying to read the painfully boring novel Ms. Gendron had assigned them in English. "Well, what's happening?"

"I know what happened with the sirens."

Seven words that jolt her awake like a shot of espresso. Any remaining irritation flushes from her system and she bolts upright, floundering around to find the pull-chain on her lamp. "What?" She catches it and gives it a firm tug, pooling the room with florescence.

News travels fast in Barden, indeed.

"Are you sitting down?" Aubrey's voice shifts into something more somber, and Chloe's heartrate spikes.

"Yes."

"Okay." Chloe tucks her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop of them and waiting patiently. Her mind flickers with several ideas, but none of them seem plausible. "So, Denise Walker..."

Denise.

Chloe knew her. Had known her since second grade, been in several classes with her and held a conversation with her more than once. She was kind, optimistic, and she shared Chloe's love for music and dance.

Actually, when she thinks about it, Chloe wonders if they would have been good friends if she hadn't already been so close with Aubrey. The two of them were a bit of a tight knit duo.

"What about her?" They'd recently partnered together in foundations math. The only class she had without Aubrey- because no way was she going to be able to get through Pre-Calculus.

"Chlo, they found her... dead." It rings around a little. She knocks the word around in her skull, trying to chew it up, make sense of it.

Dead? Denise Walker? Who she'd seen alive and well, two days ago? "Oh my god."

"Yeah. Up Dixon Hiking Trail."

A lock of red hair falls in front of her face as she shakes her head. "Wha- no. _What_? How?" Absently, she tucks it back.

"They just found her... hanging, Chlo. I don't-"

 _Hanging_? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries not to imagine it. No silhouette. No nothing. "Like a suicide?"

"I don't know." Aubrey's voice is soft. So unlike her usual, biting tone. She can be caring when she needs to be. Empathetic. Aubrey may be the more hardened one of them, but she isn't completely without soul. "I'm sorry. I know you knew her better than I did."

"I..." She doesn't want to take credit for knowing her. She didn't really; she knew her name was Denise Walker and she knew she liked to sing and dance, and she knew that she had an allergy to bees. That's all she knew. She didn't know anything about her home and she didn't know her favorite color or anything else that could suggest that Chloe's knowledge of her skimmed anything other than the surface. She probably barely knew anything more about her than her blonde-haired counterpart on the phone. "guess so. Wow."

 _Dead_?

"I heard, though," Aubrey's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. Chloe finds herself leaning forwards, as if there was someone actually in the room with her. "that they aren't necessarily ruling it as a suicide just yet."

"What do you mean?"

Chloe knows what Aubrey means. There's only one other thing she could mean, right?

She just needs to hear it said out loud.

"Murder."

* * *

The school didn't call, like Beca expected they would. In a town so small, she had assumed that the news would be enough to warrant a day off- for mourning purposes. But, it appeared that that wasn't the case.

 _Beca_ took the day off. She'd managed to persuade Wendy with little effort. Another small bonus was that the woman wasn't going to be on her case anytime soon- that could wait, for now. The woman wasn't completely stupid though, she knew that Beca wasn't close with Denise, so she could only milk this for so long.

Which, also, she felt a little bad about. No one else's death should amount to a personal gain for her, no matter how minimal the plus-sides were.

In the morning she'd phoned Amy. The cord ended up wrapped around her fingers, her wrist, through her fidgeting by the end of the conversation. Which was held behind the closed door of the bathroom. She'd called firstly to see if the girl had even heard- had any idea, and she did. Because news travels fast in Barden- but she'd mostly called to see if the Tasmanian had somehow acquired any amount of knowledge unknown to her. A clue. A fact. Anything other than the stiff conclusion that Denise Walker was dead.

She'd had no such luck. Amy didn't know anything more.

It was times like this that Beca cursed herself for having such a small network.

She knew if she were to talk to Cynthia Rose, she'd probably know something. But, they weren't exactly that close and nor would Beca put the girl through that for nothing more than her peace of mind. She knew that the two were... well, _close_ , to say the least.

And so, she ate some toast, and she went back to bed. Her mother knocked on the door to check up on her, but Beca assured the woman that all she needed was some ' _quiet time_ ' and she was fine, otherwise. Just _still in shock, y'know_? To which her mother responded, " _are you still going to go to work tonight? If not you should probably call in_ ," And Beca nodded if only just to acknowledge the woman.

Things felt like they moved like molasses for the next few days. She went to work. Heard gossip. She figured it out soon enough that the Barden police force weren't calling it a murder, but they weren't _not_ calling it a murder, either.

People surrounded Denise's locker with flowers and photos at school. Beca did her part. She plucked a few flowers from her mom's garden on the way to her bike, secured them by the stems to her handlebars and carefully avoided crushing them.

"Isn't it weird?" Amy whispered to her as they stood in front of the monument that had arisen not far from their own lockers. Beca knelt down, trying to find a spot to nestle her own bundle of daisies and peonies. "It's pretty cliche, isn't it? Murder in a small town?"

"Surprised it didn't happen sooner," Beca says absently, setting the flowers down and standing back up. There was a photograph taped in the middle of it all. It was cliche. "She was really nice. It shouldn't have been her."

Amy just sort of hums, mumbling something along the lines of " _she never questioned Fat Amy. She just said it_ ". And then they're gone, headed to class- only to pass it again later. It's then, after the first lunch bell, when Amy is pulling her food from her locker that she glances over at Beca. She can see it, in her periphery. She senses a question.

"Yes?" She raises her eyebrows, just once, before turning back to her own backpack and fishing around for her lunch bag.

"Who's going to tell Legacy?" And just as quickly, Amy is bringing her free hand up to her nose, pressing her finger against it. A child's game. "I vote Beca."

Beca tuts reprovingly. "Aw, Porkchop is gonna be so depressed." It was kind of like voting who gets to kick a puppy. Emily has about two moods; elated, or disheartened.

"When does she get back, anyway?" Amy shuts her locker, pulling some kind of peanut butter bar from the depths of the grocery bag that she used as a lunch kit. Beca furrows her brow. Emily had mentioned something about being gone two weeks- out in Mexico with her mom, step-father, and step-brother. Beca couldn't quite recall the day she left, however. "Should be soon, right?"

"Tomorrow or the next day?" She shrugs.

Amy smirks while she rips open the wrapper. "It must have been nice to have some time away from your stalker."

And then it kind of feels like a vice squeezes all the air from her lungs in a heavy sigh. She had almost- _almost_ \- blissfully erased the memory of him from her mind. Her hand finally grips an apple and she pulls it out, before diving back in for her water bottle. "I _so_ wish he wasn't her step-brother. It's weird, dude. Don't even get me started."

"He's like a lost puppy." Amy muses then, but her voice trails off. At the shift, Beca looks up, following Amy's gaze. She needs to swivel her head to stare down the hall, and she spots him.

Or, well- _them_. The Treblemakers. But she knows who it is Amy's pining after. And it makes her bristle.

" _Bumper_?" She questions, exasperated. "Really, Amy? You're still on this?"

The boy was perhaps the most obnoxious, egotistical dirtball she'd ever had the misfortune of coming across. Just because he was the lead singer in his little boy band, he thought his ass crapped gold. What Amy saw in him- she had no idea. He wasn't even that funny.

Amy shakes her head though, blindsided from being caught. "No- _no_. This sexy fat-ass has better things to chase." She then emphasizes her point with a firm pat to her own behind. Not entirely convinced, Beca nods anyways.

"Alright. I'm glad."

"Besides-" Pulling the water bottle from her bag, Beca nudges her locker shut with her elbow, spinning to face the blonde. "Your boy-toy is part of the Trebles too."

"Not a boy-toy." Beca corrects quikly. "Nope. Never, no thank you."

"He's kind of cute." Amy offers with a shrug. "Maybe I'll pounce on him."

"Well," She cracks the lid on her water bottle. "you have my blessing." And then she's a little caught off-guard when she realizes how normal this conversation is. Despite the fact that there's a memorial a few lockers down. She eyes it- Amy's reply somewhere vaguely heard, but not registered.

Those flowers feel like they're crawling under her skin.

"Let's go outside."

* * *

It wasn't any shock to Chloe that news of Denise spread like wildfire. Amidst it all, all Chloe could think about was her poor family; how the death of their child had become trivialized, and exciting. She'd told no one; but it wasn't like she needed to, anyways. Information spread on it's own.

Aubrey had taken it upon herself to organize a memorial, and a vigil of sorts. She'd still confessed in hushed tones to Chloe, however, that she was curious as to what really happened. Aside from the speculation- there weren't many details being shared about what the police force was putting together in regards to it. That meant it was safe to assume that they _had_ nothing- being as it was Barden and there were little to no secrets here.

Seriously- she's way too well-informed about the sex life of some of her peers.

So after a while, she had concluded that it was time to move on. She wouldn't bring it up to Aubrey any longer; wouldn't ask if she's heard anything new, out of respect for Denise and her family. She focused instead on old things. Or, well, _really-_ old things. Things that preoccupied her happily until two weeks ago- and things that she hadn't thought about for a very long time beforehand that suddenly resurface like half-drown buoys in the corners of her conscience.

"What was that scary story you told me one time?" She asks Aubrey, late on a Friday night. The second Friday without Denise Walker in the world. They're sitting around the fire pit built into the stone at the base of Aubrey's back patio. It's not a clear night, but there are a few stars still visible, and the blonde looks up over the embers at Chloe with her brow gently furrowed. "You know," she prompts, when it becomes clear that Aubrey isn't following. "the urban legend? About the woods?"

"Oh," Aubrey chuckles softly, a smile pulling against her lips. Chloe always thought that Aubrey had a nice smile; wide and bright. "you take that stuff too seriously."

"No," Chloe shakes her head too, grinning impishly. "just refresh my memory. I want to hear it again." She isn't sure why; but the memory of it had begun to stick with her over the last few days. Maybe the idea of hearing something else bizarre would take her mind off of Denise.

Logically, Chloe knew, it wouldn't. But it was still worth a shot.

When Aubrey doesn't appear to make a move to indicate that she was going to be repeating the tale, Chloe pouts. Slaps on her best puppy-dog impersonation. "Please?" It could be considered a whimper.

"It's just a stupid story, Chlo," Aubrey argues, but Chloe can tell she's caving. "I told you when we were like twelve. Why are you even thinking about it?"

At that, she shrugs, absently using the fire poker to prod around the crumbling logs. "It's just been on my mind, I dunno." She smiles again, sheepish. "Maybe I've been watching the horror channel too much."

She hasn't. But her curiosity isn't easily smothered by sheer will alone.

The sigh Aubrey gives then is heavy and defeated. "Okay," She relents, raising her hands palm-up to her shoulders briefly as a sign of her compliance. "I don't really remember it though. Unlike _you_ , it hasn't really crossed my mind since the eighth grade." Chloe gives her a reproving look, but says nothing. "Back when Barden was settled in the eighteen-sixties," Which Chloe can't believe, considering it probably hasn't grown much since. "some guy found this young girl wandering the woods. They thought she was from another colony. But she was all... _bloody_ , and wearing strange clothes," Aubrey wrinkles her nose as she says it, before waving away the notion with a lithe flick of her wrist. "and he just thought she was lost. As urban legend goes, though, he took her in, tried to get her to talk but she was a mute. It wasn't before long that strange things started happening though, of course." Chloe nods along, because- _of_ _course_. Urban legends wouldn't permit the absence of such things. "The cattle couldn't stand her, they would break from their fences and run to Fadear Lake. And then the farmer started going crazy, hearing voices in the wall and you know- all those cliche things," Aubrey sighs. "and he locked the girl in the cellar of his farmhouse and then went on a killing spree, murdering three people in town with an axe before going home and locking himself inside. Apparently, everyone he murdered showed up at his house the next day and he killed himself, leaving the girl in the cellar to starve to death." The blonde then laughs helplessly, throwing her hands into the air again as though to finish her story with a fizzling climax. "To end, the land with the abandoned farmhouse is cursed and that's why it's been empty all these years. Happy?"

Chloe hums thoughtfully, her the index finger of her free hand tapping out a rhythm against her chin. "No names?"

Aubrey laughs. "Chloe, it's a story! Probably just something some douchebro told my sister in the twelfth grade when he was trying to scare her."

"Well, people say weird things about that house-"

"Of course they do." Aubrey shakes her head, a fond, amused smile playing at her lips. "It's a decrepit old house by the lake, it attracts scary stories."

Now, it's Chloe's turn to raise her hands palm-up. "Pardon me for being curious."

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. "You know what they say about curiosity," And then she's pushing herself from the flimsy lawn chair, folding it up and glancing at her friend over her shoulder. "that it kills the cat."

Assuming this was the end of their night, Chloe rises from her seat as well, miming Aubrey's actions and folding the chair in her hands. "Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back." She grins knowingly, pinching her tongue between her teeth as the blonde stops abruptly, and sighs. This was an argument they've had before; and yet Aubrey continued to use the proverb, as if expecting Chloe to not counter it.

"Hate to break it to you," The blonde then says, coming around the fire and extending an arm towards Chloe's outstretched one, held and offering the chair to her to be slipped into the appropriate spot in the shed. "but I don't think there's really any satisfaction to be found in tall tales."

"So," Chloe bats her lashes innocently as Aubrey grabs the chair from her. "you don't want to come hunt Bigfoot with me, either?"

She's met with a shot of dry sarcasm, sent directly from green eyes in daggers.

Aubrey doesn't need to help her. All she needs is something to take her mind off of Denise Walker for a little while. This is something she'd do on her own.

* * *

There have been four distinctly direct conversations between Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale in her lifetime. The first being during fifth grade.

Beca had been standing, looking at the poster's outside of Ms. Oates classroom, when from behind her, she'd heard a voice.

"Can you move please?"

Beca, to herself, had scowled but obliged; the Halloween cape from her Scream costume stirring along the floor as she did so. Chloe had stood there, for a few more moments longer than necessary just staring at her. It had rubbed at Beca's small, but easily irritated ego. "What are you looking at?"

Chloe, who had been dressed as a farmer with a straw hat and a plaid shirt, in overall's, had gaped at her for a moment. Missing one front tooth, like a proper hick. Chloe had shrugged, and continued on her way.

Their next significant meeting had been in seventh grade. They'd been placed in the same class, sure, but they'd never been seated next to each other. However, she'd been seated nearby one Aubrey Posen- and when they had a substitute teacher one day, Chloe had traded spots with Beca's usual desk partner in order to be seated next her friend for the day. Beca, who had been desperately unable to discern what said teacher was trying to convey with the assignment had eventually swallowed her nerves and leaned over.

"Hey, what is this sheet supposed to be for?" She'd asked, awkwardly folding the corners of the paper. Chloe looked at her over her shoulder.

"Don't know." She responded with an exceptional air of snobbery, turning her back on Beca again and resuming her conversation with the blonde. It was this action that casually pushed Beca's compass of indifference towards a slight dislike.

Again, they spoke in eighth grade gym class.

"I like your shoes."

Beca, who'd been tying said shoes, squinted up at the face looming near her. It was Chloe, a shy smile on her lips. Beca blinks. Chloe directs her finger towards Beca's shoes again, as if to make a point. "I like your shoes." She repeats, the smile faltering a little. "The laces, I like them, they're cool."

The laces were a neon green, against a plain black. Beca had got them at Walmart, or somewhere else cheap. Bizarre, considering Chloe's shoes looked far more expensive and they were far more flashy; oranges and pinks and reds. Furrowing her brow, Beca muttered her _'thank you_ ' and that was that. Her compass shifted again, back to indifference.

It swayed back in the negative direction though during tenth grade science. The redhaired girl was usually paired with Aubrey- _who else-_ but when the other girl appeared to be sick, or otherwise absent, their teacher had paired Chloe with Beca for a lab study. Chloe had smiled when they sat down, they spoke about nothing for a moment, and then Chloe excused herself to go to the bathroom. And she never came back. Leaving Beca to do the whole damn thing by herself.

Dick.

From that day forward, they'd had no significant interaction. Which was more than fine with Beca. She'd never felt any pinch of desire to speak to anyone other than the few she could tolerate. Even then- her quota for social interactions was very, very limited.

But when after two weeks of this 'D' block bullshit wasn't going very far, and they'd done all of their tentative _'remembering Denise'_ conversations- Mrs. Abernathy decides to assign pairings for a project herself, after a pattern falls into place in which the girls' were not mingling outside of their usual partnership. Beca always paired with Amy. Chloe always paired with Aubrey. Pastor's daughter Jessica always paired with Ashley from Beca's English and Art classes. Cynthia Rose pairs with Stacie Conrad of all people- et cetera, et cetera.

"We're switching things up today," The older woman announces from the front of the classroom, after the second bell had rung and they were all in those blue plastic seats. Mrs. Abernathy picks up a stack of papers from her desk, before bringing her hand up to tap her index finger thoughtfully against her chin. Beca can already sense something she's about to resent coming. Maybe it's because she hates sudden change, or maybe it's because of the look the woman is giving the room. "Amy," She points to the girl seated next to Beca. "You go with Flo today."

Throwing Beca a look that's equally exasperated as it is pleading, Amy shuffles to her feet, dragging her chair towards the Guatemalan girl sitting a few seats to Beca's left.

"Aubrey and Jessica." Mrs. Abernathy continues. "Cynthia Rose and Lilly. Beca and..." There are a limited amount of girls left for her to be paired with. Most- she does not like. Shifting, she crosses her fingers behind her back and prays for Ashley. "Chloe."

Her prayers go unanswered. Sighing, she looks over at the red-haired girl in the row in front of her, who, in turn, swivels her head around to look at Beca. When she locks eyes with Chloe's big, bright blues, the girl looks like she maybe tries to smile but her disappointment is weighing on her too heavily for it to ever come across looking genuine.

Wonderful. Just great.

Why on Earth do teacher's think it's a good idea to push people out of their comfort zone?

Suppressing a groan, Beca gets to her feet, stiffly hooking one hand around the back of her seat and heaving it off of the ground. If this turns out to be tenth grade science class all over again, she's going to be super pissed. But she makes her way over anyways; maneuvering around the rearranged girls and gently placing the chair back onto the ground in Aubrey's old spot, before settling in. In her periphery, she's pretty sure she can see Aubrey glaring at her, and she chances a look in the girl's direction. She was right. The girl is staring her down like she thinks Beca's about to rob Chloe somehow. Grimacing, she looks away just as quickly.

"I want you girls," The woman continues once everyone has assembled in their new partnerships. She then waves the booklets around in her hand, placing them on a stool in the middle of the room. "To go through these booklets and then we'll have a vote on event planning. The girl you're sitting next to now," Beca glances at Chloe through the corner of her eye, watching the girl's fingers fidgeting idly in her lap. "Will be your partner in crime for planning one of the events in your pamphlets."

Mouthing an expletive of choice, Beca cranes her neck towards Amy at the back of the classroom, who shrugs as she rises from her seat, heading towards the stool. Turning back around, she's surprised to find Chloe had gone already, and was scooping up some booklets. When she returns, she extends her hand towards Beca, offering up a pamphlet and Beca takes it after a moment's reluctance. "Thanks." She murmurs, dropping it down to her lap and half-heartedly flipping through the pages.

Charity dances. Awake-A-Thon. Serving dinner to the homeless. Community runs. All things that were...

"not my thing." She murmurs, blowing air from her cheeks as she flips a page on community runs to an elementary school Fun Day. Beside her, Chloe hums, and suddenly she can feel eyes on her. Blinking, she looks up at Chloe, who was blinking _right back_ at her. She hadn't really realized that she had voiced her distaste aloud, but now it would just be silly to deny having said anything. Clearing her throat, she taps at the paper. "This planning stuff. Not really my thing. I'm sure you... with all your committees are much more equipped for this. So..." Chloe's eyebrows elevate slowly towards her hairline, and she nods, as if she isn't sure what she's looking at. Which is, essentially, Beca sticking her foot in her mouth. "I think this would be better for everyone if you take the reins."

"Oh." Chloe says quietly, turning her attention back down towards her own pamphlet. Which, Beca notices, was still on the very front page. Chloe hadn't even been looking at it. However, she does kind of gingerly tuck her finger under the page now, turning it over and observing. "Well, it's..."

"You pick." Beca offers, shaking her head. "Seriously- just, you pick what you want to do. I don't care."

"Well, if you want me to take the reins it's only fair that you pick." Chloe counters, sitting back and curling in the corners of her booklet. She's got a small smile on her face that isn't rude, just earnest, but Beca couldn't really care less about any of it.

"Dude, no, honestly." She shrugs, waving the little booklet around. "I'm not into any of this. Pick what you want to do."

She can see Chloe's chest rise from under her little red long-sleeve button down, and she blinks rapidly a few times, turning her direction back to the paper. Beca has the inkling feeling that she would like to argue this point, but was deciding against it. Instead, she resumes her silent staring at the paper on her lap, and Beca does the same. Only, she isn't deciding on anything; it's just something to do. She skims the pages another time, before she gets bored of that too and takes in the room.

Other pairs were silently discussing choices- or, in Stacie and Ashley's case, they were happily gushing about something. Amy and Flo seemed to be casually agreeing on something. Aubrey seemed to really be taking initiative, routinely jotting down a few side-notes for whatever the hell reason on the booklet, while Jessica chewed on her nails and watched. And then, from under her brow, the prim girl catches Beca's eye and she zips her eyes away from Aubrey, back to Chloe. Who, seemed to notice the quick movement and peeked at her from the corner of her eye, before hastily turning the page of the paper over in her hands. To the third page. She still wasn't even bothering to read anything.

Frowning, Beca tries not to stare at the girl. She just waits. Watches her feet and wishes that the clock would move faster.

"Can't you just-" Chloe's voice breaks through the growing tension between them. Beca looks up. "Can't you pick? I'll organize everything but can't you pick?"

Beca's eyes dart down to the page, where it remained there on the third one. She hadn't progressed since.

Sort of, like a delayed reaction, Beca remembers all the times she'd observed Aubrey and Chloe working together. Watching as the blonde explained the process of a lab experiment thoroughly or described, in great detail the chapter of the novel they were supposed to be reading in English class.

She remembers idly thinking that Chloe Beale is lucky she's that pretty, because she's as dumb as a bag of rocks.

And it's because she's that pretty that she gets a free pass. That she gets to be popular and coddled despite this. But as soon as Beca slacks for even a minute she's got someone breathing down her neck.

"What's the matter, can't you read?" It's a little harsh, sure, and she's not super certain where it comes from but she says it anyway.

Chloe purses her lips, eyes widening slightly, betraying her surprise. And then her mouth flounders open for a moment, lashes batting wildly. "Of course I can read, Beca." There is an equal- and admittedly, _deserved_ \- amount of bitterness administrated in the words. She turns back to the paper and scowls at Beca from the corner of her eyes. "I don't think I'd be graduating with you if I couldn't."

Here's the thing; she starts most of her fights. She really does, on the penchant of her being a little bit hot-headed and immediately defensive whenever someone raises their voice at her in response. And that's why she would _like_ to snap something about the only reason Chloe is graduating is because Aubrey has been doing all of her homework since the fourth grade. On the account that they'd need to be working together for a chunk of time in the foreseeable future, however, she thinks maybe she ought not to be a total asshat. So, she bites her tongue.

"I just don't understand why you don't want to pick." She diverts, gesturing at her own pamphlet in her lap. "This is more your territory than it is mine."

Rolling her head on her shoulders, Chloe sighs. "Fine. Give me your top three."

"I don't have a top one."

"Well, we don't want to wait and get last pick, so tell me which one you hate _the least_." Chloe argues, flipping the page on her own pamphlet again and exhaling heavily through her nose. Beca can hear the frustrated huff from where she's sitting.

Frowning, Beca relents. "Fine. Awake-A-Thon. That could be cool, I guess."

Chloe nods, shutting the booklet without continuing her idle perusing. "Okay. We'll throw our vote in for the Awake-A-Thon. Do you have a second choice?"

A first choice was as much Beale was getting from her. "No," She sighs stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her feet. This class couldn't end soon enough- and they'd just begun ten minutes ago. "You pick that."

"Alright," Chloe's voice is disheartened, but ultimately, defeated.

And then resumes about three minutes of silence, before Mrs. Abernathy is clapping her hands together with enthusiasm and progressing to the front of the class. Picking up a piece of chalk, she begins to write out the several options on the board.

Amy and Flo take the elementary Fun Day spot. Mrs. Abernathy is unhappy but unsurprised when no one wants to take on the Senior Centre option, and moves on to he charity dance. Two hands rise into the air. One from Aubrey and the other, Stacie. Which is followed by an equal amount of scowling from both girl's, and beside her, she can see Chloe chewing her lip.

"Alright, well, we'll come back to that," Mrs. Abernathy then moves on to the community run, which no one else was interested in. "Awake-A-Thon?"

Meeting Beca's gaze, Chloe tentatively extends her hand into the air. To Beca's horror, Cynthia Rose does the same. She's never felt more of a dislike for Cynthia Rose than she does in this moment- not that the girl has ever done anything against her, nor was this, but all it meant was that now they'd have to battle it out for a spot and that was _way_ more than the easy effort Beca was hoping for. The woman at the front of the room hums thoughtfully. "Well, I guess we'll come back to that, too. That means no one is interested in the homeless dinner, either?"

The lack of real community involvement here was something, Beca thinks, and it's nothing good. _Oh well._

"I don't think that one would be that bad," Chloe whispers, leaning over slightly in her seat. "It would probably be really easy to organize."

Which is true, Beca can concede. And if Chloe was going to be the one organizing, anyways, it really wouldn't effect her. And it would probably look good on a transcript or resume...

She shrugs. "Whatever. Go for it."

Chloe smiles, just a little, before extending that hand upwards again. When Mrs. Abernathy points to her, she announces happily. "Beca and I will take the homeless dinner."

What was Beca _thinking_? They should have taken that from the start- there were like, three homeless people in Barden. This would be a walk in the park.

Impressed, Mrs. Abernathy jots their names down beside the option, and then proceeds to do the same with Cynthia Rose and Lilly beside the Awake-A-Thon. Next, Beca knew, would come the fun part. Claws out between Aubrey and Stacie. "Okay, and back to the dance-"

"Mrs. Abernathy?" The quivering voice of neither of those two girls cut the woman off- as Jessica raises her hand into the air tentatively. The woman in question pauses, nodding in the direction of the pastor's daughter, allowing her to proceed. "Why don't Ashley and I work on something, so Stacie and Aubrey can both work on what they want to?"

Beca sees Aubrey's green eyes bulge from all the way across the classroom. "Oh, that's- I don't think that's necessary," The girl immediately insists, "we can figure something else out."

Mrs. Abernathy turns her direction to the two brunette's in the opposite group. "Ashley? What would you like to do?"

Alarmed at being addressed, the girl raises one hand to her chest uncertainly, before it seems to click in that she was in fact being spoken to. "Oh." She stammers. "I- well, I don't mind either way-"

"I think it's a good idea." Stacie interrupts from her seat beside the speaking girl. Beca thinks she almost sees Aubrey snap the pencil she's holding in two, and next to her, she hears a sharp inhale from Chloe that she can only imagine must be borne from some kind of nervousness. "If, of course," Then, the buxom girl is resting a gentle hand against Ashley's shoulder and batting those jade cat-eyes at her. "you don't mind Ashley."

The girl croaks out her uncertainty, eyes darting between those staring at her. Which was everyone, really. Although some looked more bored than others. Smirking, Beca leans back in her seat. She can practically hear Aubrey grinding her teeth; it was kind of common knowledge that the two girl's had it out for each other since puberty, and she could only wonder where on earth this could lead them now. It was definitely interesting. Casually, she finds Amy's gaze at the back of the room. She has her lips pressed together in a thin line, surely to hide her laughter.

"It's-" Ashley seems to have finally found words. "I mean... I don't mind, if it's easier that way." And then she shrugs, but there's a frightened mouse look about her that she can't quite shake despite her best efforts.

"Well," Mrs. Abernathy draws then, eyes darting from girl to girl. "what do you girls think?"

Aubrey is the first to speak. "I think," She sounds just as strained as Beca imagined she would. Stacie is wearing an entirely self-satisfied smirk that Beca can't help but actually feel a small tingle of respect in; because there was something about grinding Posen's gears that sang well with her and no one seemed to do it better than the girl's own rival.

Again, she hears a shaky exhale from the red-haired girl in the seat beside her followed by an equally breathless whisper. " _Holy doodle here we go_ ," Beca smothers the chuckle by quickly pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, peeking over at the blonde.

"that, if we think about something as... _large_ as the charity dance, we should take into account that I- no offense, Stacie-" Aubrey mends quickly, but it was lacking any and all sincerity. "have organized these kind of things before."

Mrs. Abernathy sighs. "While that might be true, Aubrey, this is an opportunity for everyone."

"I don't mind." Ashley speaks up then. "It'll make the sailing go smoother. Jessica and I can work on something else."

"It's-" Aubrey starts again, but cuts herself off with a sharp hiccup. Hiking a single, questioning brow, Beca glances back at Chloe. The girl has wide eyes and she's got one hand gripping the bottom of her seat, like she's about to stand. Aubrey too, appears suddenly horrified and she swallows whatever it is she was about to say with a tight-lipped smile. "whatever works."

The relief coming from Chloe now is palpable. Mrs. Abernathy raises her eyebrows as well and sort of gapes dubiously for a moment, before she blinks a few times and turns her attention to the remaining brunette. "Stacie? What do you think?"

One corner of the girl's lips curl into a half-grin, and she shrugs. "Yeah." With the most subtle hint of venom in her voice, she agrees. "Whatever works."

The woman looks like she wary to agree with the two of them, but doesn't say much else. Just writes the two of them down next to the charity dance option and allows Jessica and Ashley some time to consider what it was that they wanted to do. Running her tongue along her teeth, she casts her attention back in Chloe's direction. The girl seems to notice and gives her a small smile, rustling the pamphlet in her hands. "So," The girl hedges after a moment. "I'll just get started with this later. Can I have your number, just in case?"

For some reason, it's suddenly an intimidating prospect. Having someone like Chloe Beale obtain the knowledge of her phone number, as simple as it was. Beca realizes after a moment that her jaw has dropped of it's own accord, and what comes out next is some noncommittal vowel sound. "Yeah." She stutters out, after she's finished looking like a total ass. "Sure."

And then Chloe's grin is blinding her; it's all tooth and her eyes are crinkling up. "Okay." She sounds appeased. Then, she raises her index finger in her direction, requesting Beca to give her just a moment. And then the girl folds over to stoop down at her bag resting against the leg of her chair. She fishes around for a moment, until she emerges again with a pen in hand.

Beca recites her number, feeling a little bit like she was having an out-of-body experience, and Chloe dutifully writes the digits on the palm of her own hand. Afterwards, Mrs. Abernathy permits everyone to go back to their usual spots if they want, and they do. Beca falls back beside Amy and mutters her relief to her Tasmanian friend.

"This is going to suck," She concludes, partially listening to the new lesson about Bellas they're getting into.

"Let's do something with Legacy tonight," Amy practically whispers it into her own shoulder while eyeing Mrs. Abernathy, but Beca still hears her. "she's still all bummed out."

"Okay."

* * *

They drop by Emily's locker after school with the proposition, and the younger brunette agrees with a smile- though she's missing some of her usual glimmer. When they- or, correction, _Beca_ \- had first reluctantly broke the news on her first day back at school from her vacation, the girl's jaw had dropped and she'd lost all appetite involving the apple she'd been holding. The thing was abandoned on the picnic table outside. Emily had her fair share of questions at first, but they couldn't answer most of them. Ever since, she's been a little off.

Not that she and Denise were close, or anything. Beca just knew the girl was sensitive, and thus these kinds of things must affect her in a more personal way. It kind of made Beca question how she handled it. Because, all in all, she felt pretty casual about it; aside from a placid interest or the quiet kind of surprise that settles in one's gut, and sits, waiting. Maybe it's a relative of denial. A distant cousin.

And so around four, she's leaving her house again to meet up with Amy. The girl is already outside when she gets there, sitting in her yard, taking the scarce opportunity to soak in the sun the day is providing them. And then Amy meets her on the road, and she hops down, guiding the bike by the handlebars as they continue on their way to Legacy's house.

"I hate walking." Amy complains. "Why do we even do this?"

"Um." Beca bites her cheek. "Because you haven't hurried up and gotten your license yet? So we walk around like a bunch of dorks?"

Amy scoffs, waving away the accusation with a vehement shake of her hand. "Oh, don't you start with me, Short Stuff. You're two months older than me. So in case you don't remember," Beca rolls her eyes, "you should have your license first, yeah?"

"Not my fault my mom doesn't take me out." She protests weakly, before bringing one hand up to shade herself from the beams getting into her eyes. "I'd probably be like, a threat to public safety."

It's a ten minute walk from Amy's to Emily's. When they reach the house on the hill, Beca casually turns away from the windows; so as to not risk any unwarranted communication with her step-brother, should he see her. Because he will almost _always_ go out of his way to strike up a conversation. Even if it _literally_ means walking out of the house and down the driveway. Emily is out quickly though, shouting something about being home later to Mrs. Junk before darting out the door, towards the garage.

"Oh, what's she doing?" Amy questions aloud, causing Beca to glance over her shoulder. "Porkchop!" Amy shouts, waving her arms above her head. " _Yoohoo_ \- we're over here! Wrong way!" Emily pays no mind to that however, but she's running back out just as quickly, guiding her own bike in a similar fashion as Beca in their direction. Amy groans, shaking her head. "Wha- _no_ , this isn't cycling club, what's going on?"

"There's somewhere I want to go," Emily pants as she approaches, all exuberance and high-spirited energy as she nearly throws herself onto her bike. "I heard a scary story."

* * *

 **What happens in every single small town mystery? Um, murder. We're no different here. Lol.**


	3. Urban Legends- Part 2

**Constructive Criticisms are really welcome guys! Thanks so much for the response this has already gotten. Y'all are the best.**

* * *

The wind brought the smell of the lake with it as they neared.

But the old farmhouse was on the eastern side, and the bike ride had cut off about half-way up the hill. They'd pushed themselves along, past the turnoff to the Fadear campsite and instead they departed to a different, winding dirt road. One scarcely travelled by cars or really any kind of automotives, but mostly it remained tramped upon from curious teenagers, trekking the old path. It had become overgrown in some spots. Weeds snaking their way back, reclaiming the earth. It was still muddy from all the rain and the divets housed puddles; one puddle housed a fat toad, which Emily had gotten momentarily sidetracked trying to rescue. It had escaped.

But the woodland path opened up again to pastures and swampland. And amidst the overgrown grassland to their left, was the old farmhouse. With it's decaying framework and broken windows, the sad old house slumped in the middle as if it was ready to collapse under the strain of a windstorm. It was a sight Beca herself had seen before; it wasn't uncommon for children to wander up to the old house near the lake and marvel at it. There was something about it; pressed into the backdrop of the thicket, surrounded by a valley and near the lake that made the world seem so awfully quiet. It was a big house. It was an interesting house. It was, by some means; not unlike every other house in the fact that it had doors, and windows, and a roof. But it was so unlike any other houses because of the stories, and she'd heard many.

She'd heard rumour that it was haunted, as every solitary house must be. She'd heard that people would go there and sacrifice animals in satanic circles. She even vaguely recalled the tale Emily had told them, in her excited, full-speed-ahead-gushing about mysterious girls who didn't speak.

" _Wow_." The younger girl breathed as they came to a halt, leaning back, but with her hands still firmly braced on her handlebars as she took in the sight.

"I can't believe you hadn't come here yet, Legacy." Beca murmured, mirroring the girl's position. She can imagine the awe Emily must be feeling- it had been a long time since Beca had ventured here, but she could only wonder how the other girl must feel having never seen it before.

Amy, whom had stopped to get her bike when they'd made a pit-stop at her house on the way there, huffed from beside them. She was not very happy about the exercise. "Yeah, there it is. The creepy house. Marvelous. Wouldn't have missed this for the world." There's a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she groans again, throwing her head back on her shoulders. "No one's got like, a juicebox or something, have they?"

Beca shakes her head. "Nope. I don't carry those in my bra."

"I should start." Amy muses. "Got anything in there I could eat?"

She shakes her head again. Emily wanders towards the fence- which too, was deteriorating with rot. "Can we go in?"

Beca's eyes bulge. "You want to go _in_?"

She'd been here, spent her fair share of time gawking at it from a distance, and even willing herself to explore closer. But she'd never been inside before. Sure, she'd be lying if she said it had never crossed her mind, but when she stopped to think about it she soon realized it was not something she really had interest in.

The brunette in front of her, however, just nods her head enthusiastically. Amy cuts in next. "So- let me get this straight," she points at Emily, "you hear a scary story about some farmer guy locking some creepy bat in the basement- who then goes on a killing spree and comes home and offs himself, and you want to go _in_ the spooky house?"

Emily shrugs, brown eyes darting from girl to girl. "It's just a story." She appeals weakly. "What are we going to find- a ghost? C'mon- it looks awesome."

"It looks like it could cave in on us," Beca rubs the knuckle of her middle finger under her nose, eyeing the building.

"What're the chances?" Emily tries again, before raising her hands palm-up. "It's okay if you guys don't want to, though. I just thought it would be cool." She can feel Amy's eyes on her, surely trying to gauge her reaction. Emily then raises her eyebrows, a teasing lilt to her voice as she adds, "If you're scared it's totally cool."

Narrowing her eyes, Beca relents with a firm ' _no_ ' that's maybe spoken too quickly to be entirely believable. Regaining her poise, she absently brushes at the front of her shirt. "I just don't know if it's a good idea."

There's a long, drawn out pause between the three of them. The younger girl's silent, but formidable, hopeful pleading grinding on Beca's resolve. Inhaling sharply through her nose, she chances a glance over at Amy, who lowers her chin to her chest in response, all without breaking eye contact. Although, she can also feel Amy's lack of enthusiasm in the idea. Which, honestly, Beca shared.

Not particularly for the reason that she was scared, but moreso for the fact that the place really did look like it was going to collapse, and with Beca's luck- it would. "Maybe we can..." It's breathless, riding on her exhale. "go peek in a window, or something?"

"Deal!" The younger girl squeals, turning on her heel again and immediately dropping her bike against the fence and stomping through the grassland.

"Really?" Amy throws up her hands, ditching her bike next to Emily's and groaning at Beca. "Am I the _only_ one with sense?"

Catching herself on her shoelace, Beca stumbles forwards, before she stops herself with her bike and gives Amy a sheepish grin. "It'll be fine." Resting her own bike against the others, she stoops down to tie up the lace that had come undone. She really needed new ones. Fat Amy just mumbles something else, following the path Emily was cutting through the overgrowth.

* * *

It was refreshing to have the sun shining.

After the last class of the day had come to an end, Chloe went to her locker as usual, passing the Denise memorial as she went. Frowning, she spins the dial on her combination and snatches up her bag, whirling around to find Aubrey behind her, ready and waiting.

"We should do something," The blonde remarks lazily. "it's nice out. You need a ride home?"

She hadn't mentioned any of her plans to Aubrey yet. She knew the girl would instantly be ferociously inquisitive when there was any inkling to a change in their day-to-day routine.

Pulling her lip between her teeth, Chloe shakes her head. "No, that's okay Bree. I have-" she falters for a moment. "-math homework." The girl would certainly know if she had homework in any other class. "And I need to start organizing for Beca and I's homeless dinner thing. I was just going to go to the library."

A crease forms between the girl's brows, and she blinks frantically for a moment. It was clear she was struck already by the change. "Do you need help?"

She shakes her head again with a quiet 'nope'. Aubrey only appears to flounder further. "How are you going to get home?"

"My mom has to come down and pickup some groceries in a bit," Truthfully- she hadn't breached the topic of a pickup with either of her parents, but since it was a Tuesday, her mother shouldn't be working the diner and her father was still home for another week before he set off again. "I heard her talk about it this morning. I'll just call her in a few minutes, let her know to come and get me."

"And you're _sure_ you don't need any help?" Aubrey asks again, slower this time, as if Chloe didn't comprehend it the first time. Patiently, she gives Aubrey the same response.

"Nope! It's just math, Bree. I should be able to handle it. And if I need a break I'll just work on the dinner thing, like I said." Somewhere down the hall, she can hear Bumper Allen or one of his other Treble's shouting and laughing at something.

Aubrey levels her with a stern glare. "Chlo, don't you let Beca Mitchell slack her way through this whole thing."

"I won't." She sighs. Beca Mitchell was someone that had generally flown under their radar, but her affiliation with ear piercings on the obscure side and her sardonic attitude about things managed to be enough to cause Aubrey's dislike of the girl. A dislike that Chloe didn't share; she'd only spoken to the brunette a handful of times, but she found her independence and wit endearing.

Aubrey's scrutiny only lasts a few moments longer, before she lets out a heavy sigh. "Well, I have to put up with the Devil incarnate for the next few months, so," She rolls her eyes. "at least you could have it worse."

"Yeah." She agrees, even though she doesn't.

Before the girl leaves, she needs reassurance again from Chloe that she would able to get a ride home. And again- Chloe vehemently assures her that she does with a laugh, and a gentle hand guiding the blonde by the shoulders and away from the lockers. She practically forces the girl out of the front doors, and then waves her goodbye through the glass. It was only when she saw the blonde climb into her Jeep, that she turned away and headed for her destination.

The library.

She was the only one there, other than the librarian behind the desk. The woman smiles at her, greets her, and Chloe is quick to jump on her offer to help. "Actually," Chloe smiles, leaning forwards into the counter. "Are there any books here about Barden history?"

The woman twists her lips, pressing her glasses back up the ridge of her nose as she stands. "Yes, I think so, we have a few if I'm not mistaken," She navigates her way out from around the counter, and Chloe follows on her heels. Their library wasn't large; but it had an open-plan with a row of computers in the back. "you'd probably have better luck at the local library though. What are you looking for?" She takes Chloe to somewhere on the left side of the room, squinting at the shelves as she went.

"Just- history." With a sheepish grin, she shrugs.

The woman hums, bending at the knee to get to a few of the books nestled on a bottom shelf. "This looks to be about it." She says, getting back to her feet and handing Chloe two books. One hardcover, and one paperback. Turning them over in her hands, she responds with a hasty thank you, and then the woman is telling her to ask if she needs anything else as she leaves back towards her desk.

Before she begins her- admittedly unpromising- research, she squirrels herself behind the screen of the farthest computer. She doesn't activate it, but instead she lifts the keyboard atop of the hardrive and makes room for the books.

She isn't sure why she's going to bother doing this. She can already feel the headache that's sure to emerge. But something about it- the idea of it- strikes her hard, and it saturates deeply. There is some compulsiveness telling her to at least try, and Chloe had never been one to ignore urges.

The larger of the two books doesn't even need to be read to understood; she simply has to open it, and observe. It was just photographs of Barden. Different locations, with small write-ups about them, and Chloe doesn't waste her time reading them. It wasn't what she was looking for. The other book is a smaller paperback, and upon opening it and staring at the table of contents, she manages to decipher that it's about the Native American's from around the land Barden has settled on.

It's also not exactly what Chloe had in mind. She flips through anyway, skimming the pages as fast as she can until she finds something that could be along her line of interest. The settlement. It was said that the story originated around such times, and perhaps she could find something that could verify it or send her on a new direction. The librarian was probably right though; she'd have better luck at the local library, where she could perhaps even find records, old newspaper articles...

She's about two pages in before she feels the familiar pressure in her skull; the forming bands of a headache. Inhaling deeply, she raises her hand to her temple and shuts her eyes for a moment, rubbing in tight circles. In an ideal world, Aubrey would be helping her out with the reading; but she was capable of doing it herself and so she would. It doesn't matter that Aubrey could have probably doubled the pages she read in comparison. She could get it done eventually.

After her brief pause, she delves back in. It wasn't proving itself especially helpful up until this point, and nothing much has changed five pages into the chapter, either.

" _Boo!_ "

A hot burst of air brushes the shell of her right ear and she yelps, throwing her head back and raising her hand to cover her heart; which was beating about ten times more forcefully than it had been a moment ago.

She's met with the sound of laughter, and she can see that the outburst had caught the librarian's attention, but the woman only smiles, ducking back down to her book. Once her minor shock subsides, Chloe turns to find Tom pulling out the chair next to her, his patented little half-smile on his lips.

" _Jeepers,_ Tom!" She scolds, administering a firm smack to his bicep. He wrinkles his nose at her, sliding the straps of his _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ backpack from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor at her feet. Part of her couldn't believe he still carried that thing around, being as it was he was a senior and it was dorky- but she also thought it was cute. She was there when he'd won it at the fair in the next town over, back when they first dated in sophomore year.

"What're you doing in here?" He asks conversationally, reaching over to pluck up the book she had left on the counter. " _The Beauty of Barden?_ " He flips it open.

"Wait," Taking in his lightly perspired state, she furrows her brows, craning her neck over the computers to try to view the clock above the door. "It's not four-thirty already, is it?"

"Nah," He says it just as she sees the clock, with it's hands just past four. "Swanson didn't show up to practice again today, so coach was kind of pissed. Cut practice early." Bored already with the book, he shuts it again, and slides it towards her lightly. She stops it with her free hand.

Sighing again, she glances down at the book in her hand. Something was telling her she wasn't going to get much farther with her research right now. "Hey Tom?" She hedges after a moment, flashing him her brightest smile to make up for the hesitance in her voice. "Want to give me a ride home?"

He looks slightly taken aback, but not at all bothered. After a beat, he shrugs. "Sure."

She smiles at him and ruffles that brown hair as she stands. "You're the best." Picking up _The Beauty of Barden_ photography book, she returns to the spot where the librarian had pulled it out for her, and then signs out the remaining paperback in her name, before sliding it into her own bag.

"So what's that for, anyway?" They fall into step together, and Tom glances down at her from the corner of his eye. Chloe finds herself wondering if he's finally stopped getting taller. Because she hasn't seemed to have grown since the ninth grade but he continued to sprout like a beanstalk. By the time they made their second attempt at dating last year, he was six-foot, and as far as she could tell, still going. "You're not in History class."

Despite their dual failed-attempts at dating, they remained on good terms. Chloe liked Tom; liked him for who he was as a person, and even now she'd sometimes think about why they aren't dating, but something about them as a couple just didn't mesh. "Oh," She twists her lips together. "Just uh- personal interest."

He snorts. "You're such a weirdo. Some people have personal interests and learn astrology and you decide you want to research Barden's founding years? That's the most boring thing I've ever _heard_." He smiles at her, and she knows he's only teasing. She smirks- it is boring. But he doesn't need to know that.

"It's totes cool." She defends, bumping her hip against his own. He laughs, but hums ambiguously, as if he's still not persuaded. "We've got some pretty insane urban legends about out here, you know."

He raises her eyebrows at her. "Kid's stories?" They stop at the front doors, and he pushes them open, holding one open from the outside for her. "They are weird though, I guess. Pretty morbid."

This time it's her turn to arch her eyebrows up at the boy. "You know them?" She hadn't expected him to.

He chuckles again, slumping his backpack from off of his shoulders and unzipping it. "Yeah, Chlo, you told me! Like way back when."

And that takes her by even further surprise. But the timing, she supposes, would match up; she'd probably started dating Tom for the first time not long after Aubrey's older sister told them of the scary story. "Oh." Is the only thing she can come up with, yet again. Tom pulls his keys out from his bag and shoulders it again.

The revving of an engine distracts the pair of them as they turn into the school parking lot, however; where Tom's ' _grandpa car'_ as he called it, sat soundlessly. Turning onto the corner of the street, however, some classic red muscle car that Chloe knew that Tom would definitely know the make of- but she was clueless to, sped down the street, engine purring. And it was out of sight just as quickly as it had captured their attention. Tom whistles. "That is a _nice_ car." He murmurs under his breath, still watching down the street where it had disappeared.

"It's a hot car." Chloe agrees, and the boy finally turns back around to look at her. "Better than _Grandpa_." She adds, just to put salt in the wound. He pouts.

"Yeah, I know." Is his disheartened reply, and the two continue on their way.

* * *

It was easy to forget just how big the farmhouse was from far away. The closer Beca got though, she was reminded of the first time she'd explored around the delapidated building. And the kind of gut-twisting awe she felt when she realized the size of the actual thing. Sure, it probably had nothing on the mansions being built nowadays, but it was definitely larger than the average home.

They stamped their way through the overgrowth until they reached the side of the house. It smelled musty. Emily rose on her toes to leer in through the nearest window, and Beca did her loop around the outside of the building like a lazy tiger. Many of the windows were smashed out, and there was vandalism done on the far side. She didn't bother climbing the patio steps to the front door, and when she passed the stone stairwell to the cellar door, she didn't go down either. Rumour has it there was no way down to the cellar from inside the house, so it had remained locked. Untouched. Beca isn't sure who the last inhabitant of the house was, but if it was the farmer from the urban legend, it would mean the place hasn't seen the light of day for over one hundred years.

How the building itself was still standing was beyond her.

"This is so _cool!_ " Emily gushes, rounding the opposite corner of the house that Beca just had. The younger brunette hops over the rotting steps of the patio, tentatively trotting along the patio to peek through the window next to the door.

"The coolest." Amy huffs, sounding all sorts of unimpressed as she trails behind the girl. Emily darts past the window, placing her hand against the doorknob and giving it an experimental twist. It opens. She whirls immediately; all wide eyes and wonderment.

"It's open!" She announces, spinning back around and craning her neck around the door.

"Yeah." Beca takes a begrudging moment before walking up the steps as well. The wood of the deck seems to bend lightly under her weight. Talk about sketchy. "I'd say it's the work of the kids that smashed the window on the other side of the building, unlocking it from the inside."

Emily pushes the door open further, before chancing a step inside. "This is so cool!" She repeats, letting go of the door and taking another step inside. The sight kind of makes Beca's stomach start doing loops. Amy glances at her from the corner of her eye, before stage-whispering.

"Does Legacy have _no_ sense of self-preservation?"

Emily, turning on heel, beckons them forwards with a wave of her hand. "C'mon guys! Let's look around a little bit,"

She doesn't seem to wait for an answer from either of them- because suddenly she's disappearing to the right and out of Beca's line of sight. Her chest tightens and she surges forward. " _Emily!_ " Hissing, she pokes her head through the door of the farmhouse. The infamous murder house. She'd never gone in before; but it was dusty, and relatively dark; the only light being supplied from the windows. It left many shadowy corners, with the pools of grey light illuminating the middle of the floors.

There were ancient beer cans and tons of garbage, honestly. The front room seemed to be some formal seating room; with old plush chairs with their innards torn out in tufts from mice and other rodents chewing at them. There was also an old, stained mattress pushed into the middle of the room that makes Beca feel nauseous for a whole new reason. She hadn't even thought about squatters.

Emily is gawking at the room like she was in a museum checking out the dinosaur bones. Totally unfazed. "Emily!" She whisper-calls sharply, and when the girl looks at her she does her best impression of a stern point to herself. "Right here _right_ now!"

"Becs," The girl groans, "you're overreacting." And then she raises her voice. "There's no one here! No one but us."

Frustration builds in her. She's not sure why she ever developed a big-sister instinct for the girl (she knows perfectly well why) but it's really, _really_ inconvenient at the moment. "Emily Luanne Junk." Now she kind of feels like Mrs. Junk.

"Scaredy-cat." But she doesn't move a step. "I only want to check out a few rooms, we don't have to scout the whole place. Please Beca- _please?_ It'll only be like five minutes."

"Have you never seen a scary movie in your _life?_ " It's her best version of an explosion- despite the fact that she still feels obligated to whisper. Like speaking too loud would trigger the collapse of the building. Beca doesn't even like movies- let alone scary ones- but even she knows better.

Emily raises her eyebrows and shakes her head- she's lying and they both know it. She lives with Jesse for God's sake and every single time Beca has had to talk to him he talks about some stupid movie. At that same moment, Amy peeks her head in from around Beca. "I've wrestled crocs and it was still less unnerving than this place."

With a laugh, the younger girl snorts, waving away the sentiment as she brushes onwards into the house. Beca groans, but pointedly refuses to take one more step into building for reasons beyond her comprehension. She wasn't scared. There was nothing scary about a rickety old house from some urban legend. She was wary. There was a difference.

However, when Emily leaves her line of sight and no longer responds to increasingly agitated shouts of her name, Beca grumbles under her breath and follows the path where Emily had disappeared around. Throwing a look over her shoulder at Amy, she asks the Tasmanian girl. "Are you coming?" And she vehemently shakes her head.

"No thanks." Amy is as chipper as ever, her sense of humour never wavering. "I choose life."

"You're wise." Beca comments more to herself, and tiptoes around the furniture and into the kitchen. Cupboard doors were falling from their hinges and the window over the sink was busted open. "Porkchop if you jump out and scare me I swear to God,"

She doesn't. But the wood groans and bends under her weight, and she follows Emily through various rooms on the bottom floor. The further in they explored; the less Beca understood her fascination. There was really nothing. It just smelled like espetus and it was dirty. The wood actually sags so much in one spot that Beca feels she'll fall right through if she stepped directly in the centre of it. "Are you done yet?" Her impatience floats to the surface as Emily finishes her exploration of an old bathroom.

"Just about." Emily assures her with a sheepish grin, before pointing to the door-frame adjacent. "One more room?"

"Fine." Emily claps with glee at her relent, before darting through the frame.

It's an impressively decrepid room. The roof is sinking in and the floor is almost completely green with rot. The large fireplace is crumbling and one of the tiny windows flanking either side is smashed in. Beca immediately wrinkles her nose in disgust. "It smells like we could get cancer in this room."

Emily says nothing. She rounds the wooden table in the middle of the room; on the opposite side of the green patch of floor. Thoughtlessly, Beca follows her; frowning at the painting still hung; but crooked and peeling, on the far side of the wall. It looked like a lighthouse. Maybe. Once upon a time. Beca nudges Emily lightly and points to it.

"Whoa." Emily tiptoes a few steps closer, leering at the painting. "Cool. This is so cool." Beca can't count the number of times she's heard the girl say the word since they started the venture. She sort of hums her response; eyes caught on a streak running along the wall. It could be stained from a leak. Emily brushes behind her, continuing her peruse of the room.

Beca gives up her brief, silent wonder, and makes the same movement Emily had. Only to bump into her stiff back. "Legacy- what?"

And she sees it. Doesn't know how she hadn't noticed it sooner.

A single, lit, flickering candle sitting on the matching end table next to the fireplace. Sitting atop of a sinewy white cloth, deteriorating with age. It had been obscured from their vision in the front of the room by the mouldy armchair next to it.

"No fucking way." She mutters, and Emily stumbles backwards.

"Okay-" The girl laughs nervously. "I've had enough now, let's go."

She allows Emily past her- despite the screaming in her body to high-tail it the other way. But she wants to see Emily out first.

There's a shout.

Presumably, a human shout of some kind but Beca's mind can't decipher if there are words- and if there are, she doesn't know what they are. She jumps with a scream. Emily jumps. They both break to run but Beca stumbles; the shoelace on her right foot unravelling under her. Suddenly she's going backwards, and she can see Emily spin and reach out for her, the moment before she begins to fall.

A hand grasps thin air and Beca struggles to catch ahold of something, anything to balance her.

She's so going to _kill_ Emily for this one.

Her hand grasps the cloth hanging from the table and it falls with her. Beca's back makes contact with the floor; the wood doesn't let up much of a fight. The single moment it takes for Beca to realize what has happened, with Emily rushing forward towards her again; eyes wide with terror- is the moment she comprehends. "Back!" She manages to get out, but Emily's foot already comes down on the wood- the green wood- just below Beca's feet.

And she's falling again. Screaming, again.

Until her back hits another floor- or Earth, and the wind is knocked straight from her lungs. Her head smacks against that same floor a moment later, and suddenly she's seeing stars as her eyes struggle to adjust to the new gloom. She's sitting in the only pool of light- which was barely any, and it was coming from the hole in the floor she had just crashed through.

Some evil God hears her concern about this, as something else falls down next to her. The candle.

And it ignites further, on straw scattered among the floor.

"Beca!" Someone shouts, and it pulls Beca out of her daze.

"Emily!" Beca scrambles; her other senses slowly catching up to her.

Smell. It smells stronger down here; acidic, but musty, with the beginning billows of smoke from a growing flame. And the way she can suddenly hear Emily shouting at her. And her fear, too; because she can't really see a thing. She spins, straining to see a way out. A small beacon of light calls to her. "I'm in the cellar!" She shrieks. "Get out- it's on fire- Em you have to get me out- you and Amy need to help break the door down outside!"

Frantically, she clambers towards the flame brings her foot down on it a few times; desperate to try to stamp it out but it's growing too quickly. There's shouting coming from the other side of that tiny, sliver of light, and a pounding. Her name, she thinks, she can hear being called by Amy and Emily. Beca heads towards it. She knocks into some kind of shelf, and it sways, she thinks, but she's too busy trying to get to the door to comprehend anything; including the throbbing in her knee.

Her feet crunch over something as she makes it to the door. First, she fumbles for a handle or a knob, and when her hand grazes the metal and she turns, it doesn't move. Beca lifts her foot, kicking at it. It was solid. Somehow, the only piece of wood that hadn't rotted out entirely. Maybe with their collective battering they could weaken it.

Beca, after a few kicks, clambers away from the door and begins blindly scouring the shelves for anything she could use. Her eyes had adjusted better by now; and the growing flame was continuing to feed her additional light. There's not really anything more than empty jars to be found, and the smoke is beginning to choke her lungs.

She puts her whole body into the next one. Slamming her shoulder against the door, she feels it give a little bit.

"Beca!" Amy hollers. "Don't worry we're gonna get you out of there!"

"Beca, I'm so sorry!" Emily tacks on. Beca grits her teeth- yeah, if she lives it through this one, she's going to kill the girl- and slams herself into the door.

Behind her, there's a flare as the flames begin to lick their way up the poles of the foundation. The house groans. Panic consumes her in a fresh wave; she hadn't even considered the place caving in on her. "It's starting to break!" Her voice wavers, and she slams herself into the door once again.

Fuck urban legends.

Backing up to gain some speed at it, Beca nearly stumbles again. Coughing into her shirt, she hangs on to the shelf separating her from the fire and counts to three. And then she imagines herself as a freight train, moving full speed ahead. Her body hits the door with enough force to nearly knock her back down with the ricochet, and the door splinters.

"There, there!" It's Amy's voice, and a collective of fists begin to pummel at the break. The draft of fresh air refuels her again. Backepedalling, her feet bump into the shelf and she slams herself into the door once more. Something in her arm throbs, but the pain isn't enough to be broken, she wagers. A chunk crumbles away from the wood, and Beca's never been so happy to see Fat Amy's horrendous faux fur coat.

With one more slam of her body, and the hysteric kicking from the girl's on the other side, they've managed to chip away the door, and Beca sticks her head through the hole created. She squeezes her arms through next; Amy and Emily both grab ahold of either one, heaving her out. Her feet scramble against the door until she can manage her assisted crawl out of the small opening they had created.

When her feet hit the outside world again, she practically pushes the other two out of her way. "It's on fire," She mumbles again, as if they didn't already know. "We have to go."

"Beca!" Amy huffs to keep up with her. "Are you sure you're okay?" Her hand wraps around Beca's upper arm, and she shrugs it away. "Did you hit your head?"

Coming to the stop of cellar stairs, Beca inhales deeply, and coughs again. "Yeah." There's a pounding in her forehead, and her legs are shaking- all the way into her toes. "I did, but I'm fine." And the roar of flames consuming something inside of the house startles her into walking again. She hadn't realized how the sun had begun to set during the ordeal. Night began to crawl out from under trees, and stretch. "We need to go."

"We need to tell someone- don't we?" Emily asks frantically, bounding up the stairs and nearly falling herself when she reaches the top. Beca begins to move, her feet carrying her back towards their discarded bikes with, what she thinks, is an impressive amount of calm for someone who nearly died in an allegedly haunted cellar of an old farmhouse.

"Yeah." Beca agrees, glancing back at the house over her shoulder; there appeared to be the orange light of flame coming from one of the windows inside. "We do." That darkness stretching from the trees was unsettling her more than everything else. She doesn't want to bike home in the dark, through the woods. The old haunted woods. She begins to run.

Her heartbeat fills her in her chest and pounds in her chest. She's going as fast as her legs will carry her. Emily bounds at her side and Amy, she can hear, is struggling to keep up behind them.

For once Beca doesn't care to wait.

She hops the wilting fence and lifts her bike from the ditch, guiding it onto the road and throwing herself onto it. She pedals. Fast and hard, without looking back. The heartbeat swells in her ears, sweat forming cold on her back, on her forehead. The house has made her ill, she thinks. It has poisoned her.

It made the forest look unwelcoming as it filled with various shades of night. Growing shadows and crow beaks. The branches of trees- dead and alive- reaching onto the dirt path as the wheels of her bike crushed toadstools. Reaching out, rustling in the growing wind and whispering. Through her panic she doesn't think; and a branch whips her on the crown of her head, another tangling into the material of her shirt and jerking her. It was as if they were gripping at her. Telling her to come, stay. To linger and hide. Hide here forever. Never go. But to stay. Stay.

Beca can't breathe. It could swallow her whole.

Someone calls to her. She doesn't look. She stares forwards; trying to beat the night out of the woods.

* * *

Chloe's mother is outside watering the flowers when Tom's car pulls into the driveway, past the diner. Janet stands straight up as the car rolls to a halt in front of her house, the hose spraying water over the dirt. She waves, and Chloe slips out the passenger side with yet another thank you.

"Hi Tom!" The woman crows happily, leering down in an attempt to catch a sight of the boy. She'd always liked Tom.

"Hello," Tom responds politely. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm great." The two engage in small talk as Chloe opens up the backseat and pulls her backpack out. She waves goodbye to the boy as she heads towards the house, and Tom takes that as his cue to leave. His manners remain in tact though as he waits for Janet to finish some story about the diner, and then makes an excuse to leave. With her mother; one needs to be careful, because Janet could take someone's ear off for hours.

As he drives away, the woman turns to Chloe, a satisfied grin on her lips. "You got Tom to drive you home?"

Chloe can predict where this is going. Surely, the woman was already formulating dinner plans in her mind for her and the boy. Chloe shrugs, giving her mom a pointed look. "Yes. I was in the library doing homework and his practice finished early. I just ran into him and asked."

"Oh." The woman tuts conspiratorily, bringing her hose back over the flowers.

"It's not like that." Chloe shakes her head. "We aren't- we're not back together or anything."

"Okay," She doesn't sound convinced. Chloe just rolls her eyes good-naturedly and continues her way up the front porch steps. "Oh, honey, wait," Chloe pauses, hand on the railing and turning back to the woman. "Are you going to perform any more at the diner? I meant to ask- it's just, it's been a while."

It was kind of a silly thing she used to like to do. She supposed it was cute when she was a kid, but now it just became a little nit embarrassing. Her parents were both super into 'supporting local talent' so they had installed a small stage in the restaurant, so that musicians could get some exposure. They weren't necessarily always with a waiting list of performers every week, but it was an option. Chloe used to like to; just to get over her stage fright. "Um..."

"Oh, but honey, you're so good." The woman tucks greying blonde hair behind her ears; a few strands that had come loose from under her visor.

"Maybe." Chloe says it mostly to appease the woman. It seems to pacify her enough, because Janet nods, and Chloe continues into the house without further interruption.

After dinner, she fishes the book from her bag and settles into her bed. A quiet determination to find something fueling her motivation

* * *

She lost Amy and Emily somewhere on the road down from Fadear Lake. They had fallen behind and Beca felt sick, with an insatiable need to get home and collapse in bed.

Towards the last leg of her journey, her muscles began to fight against her; turning limp in her legs as pedalling became harder. Beca could feel the forming bruises on her body that slamming herself against the door afforded her. Dusk had finally settled over Barden by the time she neared her home; the evening was grey, and a milky purple, and it was beginning to smell like the end of summer.

She vows to herself that she needs to stay out of trouble.

This is the second time she's biked home in a stupor in the last month.

Pulling onto her street, she allows the bike to coast it's way along as she heads for her driveway. Except, other than her mothers typical old Volvo, there was an old, sunset red Mustang sitting behind it.

Beca knows that car.

That car is bad news.

She brings her foot down in her surprise and stops with a jerk. And the universe, with all of it's horrible timing, sends her front door opening and she sees the blonde hair emerge from inside, followed by her mother. Wendy wore her pressed, painfully fake, close-mouthed smile and the boy is smiling too, perhaps just as nervously, but with a bit more genuine effort than what her mother was offering up. And then he looks over.

The smile becomes real.

"Beca!" He greets happily, bounding down the steps and jogging over to her. Had this day not already felt like a dream- she would surely be having a moment. As it is, though, she doesn't think she's capable of having any more of those today.

Luke approaches her with a wide grin and a half-hug, in all of his leather jacket, British-handsomeness glory. She doesn't reciprocate. Something flashes behind his green eyes that could be concern, but he says nothing of it.

"Luke," She manages to stammer out; eyes flickering back and forth from his face to her mother. She was standing with her arms crossed and a scowl painting her features. It was times like this that Beca wished she and Wendy didn't look so much alike. Though, she supposes, looking like Francis wouldn't be much better. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," He takes a few steps back, regarding her warmly. "I was just passing through and I wanted to come see my sister."


	4. Blue Milkshakes

**Sorry if there's any capitalized words here, randomly. It's part of my editing process. I think I've caught them all though. Reviews appreciated!**

* * *

Beca thinks about what a clusterfuck her last month has been.

First, there was Denise.

A curious departure of police force had lead her to follow in their pursuit, only to have her discover something that she wished she hadn't.

Then, she'd nearly burned to death in an old stinky house because Emily had wanted to go exploring. Beca couldn't say no.

Two very burdening events, and sitting atop are the smaller ones. Something as minuscule as the fact that she had to be paired with Chloe Beale for 'D' block class, or that Jesse had continued to drool over her from afar and it was weird- things so small and so, Beca knows, unimportant but yet still so irritating.

And of course now there's Luke.

He'd always been the good child, Beca thinks. She really has no real right to think this though, and she knows that as well, because she'd only ever met him a few times. But he was good looking and eloquent and moderately successful. And he was born four years before Beca- when her father had taken a trip to London and had an affair. Mom didn't find out until about a year later, the same time dad did; when a letter arrived in the mail telling him that she had gotten pregnant and decided to keep it- their son. Shiela had caused a wedge that took a long time to somewhat recover. Beca was part of that process.

It didn't work.

Their marriage still crumbled and Francis still left. Not that Beca cares. He was a prick, and one psycho-parent was enough for her.

Her mother had squawked at her for ages after Luke had left; trailing after Beca down to her room as she had propelled herself unceremoniously onto her mattress. The woman was losing her mind about it. The grating only took so long before Beca exploded. "I don't know, mom! If I knew he was coming, if I had _talked_ to him, he wouldn't have come here looking for me because he would have known that I wasn't here!"

Wendy huffed unhappily, arms crossed at her chest as she stood in Beca's doorway. Eyes stone-hard and glaring. "Why do you hate me so much?" She accused, and Beca threw her hands into the air.

"What do you want from me?" Wendy did this often. Whenever things didn't go her way she would turn things back around and play the victim card. She hated being yelled at, but did enough yelling for both parents, she hated being questioned- yet she interrogates Beca every time she says she's going somewhere. Hypocrisy was Wendy Mitchell's base foundation.

The woman shakes her head, throwing Beca one more look of disgust before leaving and slamming the door shut behind her. At least now it was quiet. Quiet gave her time to compartmentalize.

Luke had told her that he was looking for a house here in town, and that he would be here for a while. He promised to see her around and Beca had done her best to look apathetic, at least. Personally- she didn't really have a lot against Luke. It's not like it's HIS fault their father was an unfaithful bastard. But she knew his presence created a stressor on Wendy- and a stressor on that woman equaled a stressor on Beca as well.

The phone rang a few times, and she assumed it was either Amy or Emily or maybe both of them checking in, but Beca couldn't muster the energy to leave her room to answer and Wendy most certainly wasn't going to allow her to talk on the phone after their quarrel.

As she lay in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling; Beca felt her toes still shaking with adrenaline and the soreness starting to spread in her muscles. She didn't eat, but waited for sleep.

* * *

Frowning, Chloe hung the phone back up on the wall, staring down at the number held on the slip of paper in her hand. She'd transferred Beca's number from the skin of her palm to a scrap piece of paper from her binder not long after she'd gotten home, and had tried to phone her to get a few more of the details of the homeless dinner for her, but, there hadn't been an answer so she supposed she'd just get started on her own.

She really didn't mind doing most of the work. Chloe didn't think it would be a lot. She mostly just wanted to check in with Beca to make sure they were all gonna be on the same page; not wanting to risk making any decisions without some bit of agreement, even though Beca had told her to just go for it.

"No answer?" Her father asks, still stooped over the stove, stirring a pot of chili. Chloe shakes her head.

"No. That's okay. I'll see her tomorrow. I think we have lots of time to do it,"

Robert grins over at her. "Early bird."

Sheepishly, she shrugs. "I just like to get things out of the way."

"Nothing wrong with that." He sets the spoon down against the counter, moving to the sink and running his hands under the faucet. "After dinner could you clean the rooms, please? There's someone in Two, but,"

Chloe nods. That's her job; helping out whether it be in the diner or the motel when she's asked. Mom or Dad will usually slip her some money after, so, she didn't mind.

* * *

It's the car again.

Chloe halts, furrowing her brows as she rounds the corner of the motel and observes that old red car. She's close enough now, and has just _barely_ enough knowledge to see that it's a Mustang, maybe from the seventies. And it's parked right out in front of room two.

Her mother taught her not to stare though- even if there wasn't anyone around to see her- so she blinks to herself and continues on her way to the facility room. Whistling, she twists the keys around her fingers and fumbles around with them until she finds the right one. Twisting the knob, she drops the keys on top of the dryer, exchanging them for the vacuum in the corner. Resuming her tune as she sets the vacuum outside of the door and enters the room for a second time in search of the bucket full of cleaners, and then snatches the keys back up in her opposite hand, backing out of the room.

She stops short- her tune fading and then dropping off as she meets eyes with a man suddenly standing outside of Room Two- one hand still resting on the knob. It takes a second for Chloe's eyes to adjust.

"Oh." He says after a moment, one half of his mouth twitching up in a smile. He's cute. "Hello." Also British.

"Hello." It takes her about a second longer to realize that she should probably be polite and say something back.

The man finally moves away from the door, shutting it all the way behind him and wringing his hands together. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh," Her hands grip around the frame of the bucket, and she sort of shifts it higher against herself. "It's no problem, just didn't hear you come out."

He laughs lightly, dropping his gaze down towards his feet for a moment. Chloe smiles. "I'm gonna guess you've ate there before, right?" He juts his thumb in the direction of the diner. Chloe doesn't make a point to tell him her parents actually _own_ it, just nods. He has the same lopsided grin that Tom has. "Any recommendations?"

' _Pancakes_ ' is the first thing that comes to mind, but since it's nearly seven, that's not exactly on the menu. She stalls for a moment, cursing herself by being so dumbstruck just because a super good looking guy is asking her what he should have for dinner. By the way his smile is growing though, she must be doing something right. Shaking her head, she finally manages. "The burgers are all really good." Even though she's more of a lasagne girl. "Local beef."

He laughs again, nodding along with her. "Right." He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. "Thanks. I'd ask you to join me, but," Chloe just manages to catch her jaw before she drops it. _That_ would be embarrassing. She imagines her face is less than stoic though; can wager that just by the way she's blinking. "looks like you're a bit preoccupied at the moment." She SO badly wants to tell him she doesn't have to be. But she doesn't want to come across as desperate. "Maybe some other time. Know any good places for coffee?"

And that could be an innocent question. She knows it's not but it _could_ be, which is why she answers it. "The Blue Jar." She doesn't miss a beat. Mostly because it's the only coffee shop in town. "They have blue milkshakes." However, there's less certainty surrounding why she decided that's an important aspect.

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "Blue milkshakes?"

He's humoring her. It's not hard to tell. Whatever. Aubrey is going to be so fucking jealous.

Chloe just nods, refusing to look at all sheepish about her delivery of this information. The guy chuckles to himself, before extending his hand out towards her. Gingerly, she takes it, and he's gives her a firm but gentle shake. "I'm Luke." He introduces. "You are?"

"Chloe." How much older is he? Would it be a creepy older or is it still acceptable? Stacie dated Jesse Swanson's older brother, after all...

"Well, Chloe," Luke lets go of her hand now, burying them into the pockets of his jacket. "I'll see you around." He raises his eyebrows again, mouth still pulling into a coy smile. "Maybe we can get a blue milkshake sometime."

No set date. A good looking guy like that probably flirts with everyone regardless, so Chloe isn't really fazed. She'd be satisfied with the eye-candy and the story she had to tell Aubrey. "We'll see." She responds cheekily, before turning back to her vacuum and cleaning supply box. Luke gives her one last parting smile before trekking across to the diner.

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she grasps her hand around the handle of the vacuum and pushes her way into room six. 

* * *

Beca tried to clear her mind making mixes, but everything she made was choppy and disjointed; words weren't fitting properly over basslines and nothing sounded right. It had just ended up frustrating her further. Ultimately, she'd ended up slamming the lid of her laptop shut and blinking against the darkness she'd suddenly found herself in. The night had crept up on her.

When she looked at the clock, she realized it was the morning, actually, that had crept up on her.

So she'd crawled into bed and curled under the blankets, sulking. There was no way Wendy was going to let her skip school again; and she knew she had a shift at Clucky Hut tomorrow after school. They always booked her on Fridays.

Fuck.

She'd tossed and turned, annoyed by her inability to shut off her mind; which was continually reminding her about the narrow escape she'd had hours before. She was fine, though, and she knew it. It shouldn't be keeping her awake.

But it was.

Somewhere though, in between some hour, she'd eventually dozed off.

* * *

The alarm shrilled though, as it always did, at quarter after seven. Blearily, Beca groans, reaching out with one hand to slap the snooze button off while using the other to snatch up a pillow and throw it over her head. Her short rest was definitely not enough. But she rolls around for another ten minutes until her alarm is screaming at her again, and drags herself to her feet.

Beca's fully aware that she's going to check out mentally for the day. Physically, she has to go to school. But mentally, she will be here, in her bed.

She doesn't see her mother in the morning, which is fine with her, so she grabs an apple and heads out for her bike when the time comes. The morning is overcast and grey; the clouds seem heavy with rain, ready to release the downpour. She pedals with a bit more effort in attempt to get to school before that happens.

* * *

"DJ B!"

She hears Amy before she sees her.

Sighing, Beca pauses in the hallway, where she'd been on a straight beeline for her locker. Throwing her head back on her shoulders, she spots the Tasmanian bumbling down the hallway opposite towards her. Already, she knows that this is going to have something to do with the night before. Which is not something she wants to get into right now- let alone this early in the morning.

Without a greeting, Beca waits for Amy to fall into step with her. "How are you doing, Short Stuff? Got a little bit wiggy last night, eh?"

With a twinge of annoyance, Beca snaps. "I just about burned alive, Amy."

"Yeah, but." Amy pauses for dramatic affect, pursing her lips and lolling her head from side to side. "You didn't."

"Well, I'm sure the place burned to the ground, so." Squeezing her eyes shut. "Whatever."

"Yeah," It's high-pitched. "Legacy and I called a fire truck after to make sure we didn't start any forest fires or anything."

"That's great." She's not sure if she intended for it to come out that sarcastic, but it did. Making an effort to correct herself is off the table. "Didn't want to start a crisis."

As usual though, Fat Amy skims over the tone without any minute form of difficulty. "No, that's what we thought."

Fire trucks mean investigations into arson. This realization dawns on her after a moment spent staring right back at Amy, who was nonchalantly chewing on a rope of licorice- a detail Beca had missed. But it was so, SO obvious now. The way she was tearing it apart, and smacking, staring boredly back at Beca. A sharp pain that she'd been subduing all morning explodes behind her temple the second that crosses her mind, and she brings her hands up to her head and holds it firmly in place. Amy's eyes widen. " _Fuck_." Beca whispers emphatically. In truth, she doesn't know the first thing about how arson investigations are conducted; and it may have been an accident, but they were definitely there. "Fuck!"

"What?" Amy deadpans, biting off another length of licorice. Totally unworried.

"Amy!"

" _What_?" The girl's takes on a more shrill note this time; the kind that suggests that the other person better get to the point.

"They're going to investigate what happened," Beca hisses, after she takes a beat to make sure no one was in earshot. But no one seemed to be taking any notice of them. "And we were there. Amy, we are r _esponsible_ -"

Amy places a heavy hand on her shoulder then, steadying her. "Chill, Beca." She interrupts, before using said hand to give her a firm shake. Scowling, Beca ducks out from under her. "That place is probably crispier than an old hooker in the sun." She returns her attention to her licorice. "They probably won't even know we were there."

"You think?" Because she was somehow not convinced.

Amy nods, speaking through a mouthful. "Pretty sure, yeah."

The first warning bell rings and Beca shakes her head, turning back into the direction of her locker. "Fuck."

* * *

First period foundations math was the only class she had this semester without Aubrey. Usually by the time the bus gets to school in the morning, Chloe doesn't have time to track down Aubrey before the warning bell is ringing. Or, sometimes, her bus was so late she barely got there before the first bell. That's just because her bus driver, Steve, was really r _eally_ old and definitely drove like an old person. Honestly, sometimes she didn't think he should still be behind the wheel- let alone to a bus, but.

So she had to wait until second period PE to talk to her. But she definitely jumped on the chance when she got into the locker room, drifting over to her locker beside Aubrey's.

"Good morning," Aubrey greets her, green eyes peeking sideways over to her with a reserved smile. Typical Aubrey behavior. Cool and calm- it seemed to be that way whenever she wasn't winding up about something. But the day was still early.

"Morning." Chloe returns, lifting a hand to begin spinning the combination on her gym lock. "Guess what?"

Aubrey pulls open her locker, routinely pulling out her gym-wear. "What?" She plays back, just before bringing her sports bra to her own face and giving a cautionary sniff. Chloe smirks- it _was_ Friday after all- before tugging open her own locker and reaching for her own athletic clothes.

"So I was cleaning the motel last night, right?"

Aubrey drapes her change of clothes over the bench. "Uh-huh."

Chloe hastily copies Aubrey's action, checking her own sports bra, before deciding it was okay. "Well, I met this really cute guy. Like," Aubrey glances back at her, halfway through undressing her top. " _Really_ cute. And British."

Clucking her tongue, Aubrey lolls her head back on her shoulders. "Chloe." There's a hint of reprimand in it.

Chloe raises her eyebrows. "What?" She laughs, and then pulls her shirt over her head and licks her lips. "I'm just saying, you should have seen him, 'Bree. Gorgeous."

A small noise escapes Aubrey then, somewhat exasperated and somewhat resigned. "Well, tell me- what did this gorgeous boy look like, then?"

She feels her cheeks stretch in her smile, and pulls her sportsbra over her body. Reaching beneath it, she unclasps her regular bra from underneath and pulls it out. "Okay, so; tall."

Aubrey blinks at her. "Is that it?"

"Well, no, give me a sec." The blonde sighs, making a pedaling motion with her hands, encouraging Chloe to get on with it. "Blonde- dirty blonde, a little bit curly. Um, I think his eyes were green? Nice face... nice arms. I think he had tattoos?"

"Wow." Aubrey sounded far from impressed. Chloe pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, ducking her head through the hole in her PE tanktop. "Sounds great."

"He was good looking, I promise."

"So, you met some random grifter." Aubrey concludes flatly, shimmying her shorts over her hips. "Gorgeous as he may be."

Miming the girl's action, Chloe sighs. "No, no. I just talked to him for a minute." Clearly Aubrey was in one of her moods today- not that her typical mood was particularly approachable, but every now and then she had a day in which she was even less inclined to put up with social interactions. No matter who it was- including Chloe.

Aubrey sort of hums ambiguously, glancing at Chloe once more over her shoulder before returning her attention to her sneakers, looping the laces together. Chloe sighs to herself, bending over to do the same.

Maybe she'd see the car around again. Something tells her she might.

* * *

"And then-" Amy's in the middle of one of her stories. One in which Beca's not entirely sure if she's heard before, because most are so absolutely absurd that she can't keep track, and she usually tunes the other girl out three quarters through the tale. Nine times out of ten, she also doesn't believe in their actuality, but it's one of Amy's personality hallmarks that she puts up with.

Suppressing the urge to sigh, Beca stabs into her disgustingly rubbery cafeteria-issued pepperoni pizza. She also doesn't usually take to using cutlery for pizza, but the grease was dripping from the bread and leaving an orange streak against her paper-plate, and she wasn't really into getting greasy fingers. Amy was across from her, licking said grease from her own hand while she told her story, and Emily was to her right, listening with a polite but baffled disposition about her. She'd always put more effort into listening to Amy. Which Beca could appreciate. It saved her on several occasions, including today.

When Fat Amy finally reached the climax of her tale, Emily was all wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Wow." She says quietly, slowly turning her head towards Beca. Emily, smartly, had opted for a homemade lunch of some kind of sandwich- chicken, by the smell of it. Now, finding it may be the appropriate time, Beca sighs.

"So, Beca- how are you feeling?" Emily asks then, eyes nervously darting between the two of them. She grins sheepishly.

And Beca really, badly, wants to forget the whole thing happened. "Well." She starts shortly, deciding the slice of pizza probably isn't worth the clogged arteries and shoving it lightly away from her. "If I hadn't just about died yesterday,"

"Here we go," Amy mutters, and Beca shoots her the dirtiest look she can. One that mirrors the one Kimmy Jin always gives her in photography class.

"Guess who shows up on my doorstep?" She raises her eyebrows directly at Amy this time, daring for her to truly take a guess. She should have foreseen Amy's bigger interest would be in the juicy gossip, other than the fact that she legitimately had a reason to be in a bit of a bad mood today.

A deep crease forms between Fat Amy's brows, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the tabletop. Emily quirks her head to the side curiously, but says nothing. "Who?" Amy asks, blinking. "Beale?"

This time it's Beca's turn to blink. "What, no? Why would it be her?"

Amy shrugs, the interest ebbing away with each passing second. "Well, you two are partners for that thing."

Beca concedes to this after a moment. "Well, yeah. But no." Emily takes a bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "My brother, that's who."

A single brow raises on the girl to her right, but Fat Amy's mouth drops open in a small 'o'. "You mean, your super-hunk brother?" Beca rolls her eyes, and Emily swallows thickly beside her.

"You have a brother?" The younger girl queries, reaching for her juice box and sipping. Beca gets the feeling that she might have been _act_ ually shocked and just about choked herself.

"Half-brother." She corrects herself. "But yes. He lives in England. He's been here once before, for a while."

"And he's-?"

"Beca's more attractive counterpart?" Amy crumples up her plastic plate. Now Beca groans.

"Thanks, Amy. Really."

The girl in question raises her hands in surrender. "I mean, I think you're cute too, Beca." She amends quickly. "But, I'd happen to be a bit more interested in your dishy brother than you." She twists her lips. "Sorry." Completely insincere.

Huffing unhappily, Beca turns her attention back to Emily. "He's not so bad, I guess." She admits, and the girl daintily sets her now-empty juicebox on the table. "But he's trouble. He stresses my mom out-"

"Bastard child." Blunt Amy. As usual.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Beca takes a moment to compose herself before snapping. "Yeah, she doesn't like him." She confirms, throwing Amy another warning look. "And whenever he's around, it won't be long before my dad starts sniffing the place out. Which means-" Beca brings her hand up to her temple, pressing in for a moment and revelling in the pressure that momentarily takes away her building headache. "An even _more_ stressed out mom, which means _hell_ for me. And I'm sure my dad will be super annoying too." Emily bites the corner of her lip, and Beca throws her hands into the air in a show of her helplessness. "So, yeah. I'm excited. Having a really _great_ time."

"Well," Emily sighs after a beat. "Do you want to do something tonight? Take your mind off of it? We could go to my house,"

Beca shakes her head, allowing herself to slump in her chair. "No, thanks." She brings one hand back up to her temple, shooting Emily an apologetic look. "I would but I have a shift tonight."

"Back at the Clucky Hut, are ya?" Amy grins. "Can you bring me some chicken when you're off?"

"Um, no." Partially because she's a bit annoyed with her, and partially because her shift ends at ten.

Amy sort of pouts, but moves on without pushing any further. She and Emily continue on about something else, the likes of which Beca completely tunes out. She finds her attention instead being pulled towards the other people in the cafeteria; which consisted of five tables. Only three of which were occupied; their own, a group of particularly noisy freshman, and the final and farthest table from them harboured a few of the football guys from her grade. Tom Hawes and a few other meatheads, but there was a back facing her with vibrant red hair, and next to her, an even more unimpressed looking Aubrey Posen. Beca could spot the scowl from across the room.

"Emily!"

Oh good Christ.

"Becaw!"

 _Jesse_.

He comes lumbering into the cafeteria; a tornado of blowing hoodie's and wide smiles. Shutting her eyes, Beca takes a deep breath in through her nose and rests her head in her hand, elbow pressing into the hard plastic surface of the table. The boy arrives a moment later.

It's not that Jesse is exceptionally awful. Sure, he doesn't shut up, he has a tendency to talk about things that Beca couldn't care less about, and he's been obsessed with her since the eighth grade when he finally hit puberty- but Beca wouldn't quite call him awful. He's very nice. He has a really boyish look to him- Amy had once stated that he looks like a puppy and Beca had never been able to unsee it. He's just incredibly overbearing for Beca, as she is someone who is vexed quite easily. Already is.

"Hi Beca." He puffs breathlessly, eyes darting over to her, and then to the other girls. "Hi, Amy. And, hi, Emily." And then back to her, and then at Emily again.

Beca begrudgingly mutters a greeting in return, the others do so with a bit more livelihood about it. "Hey Jess," His step-sister gives him a wide, _every-tooth-in-her-mouth-showing_ smile. They always got along. Emily fit in well with the whole Swanson family; even Jesse's older, more arrogant brother had a soft spot. "What's up?"

"Oh, I just talked to dad, he wanted me to ask you if you rode your bike to school today."

Emily's brow furrows together. "No, Jesse, I took the bus with you."

His eyebrows shoot up. He also tends to be quite oblivious, and forgetful, from what Beca has experienced. "You did?"

Ducking her head, Beca rolls her eyes to herself. She hears Emily snort. "Yes, Jesse. Nice one. Why though?"

"Oh he wanted you to pick up some bread on the way home if you did. That's okay."

Peeking back up, she meets Jesse's eyes for a moment, and gives him a small smile so as to not look too rude. It is Emily's brother, after all. Step or not. He smiles back.

"Hi, Beca." He greets for the third time. Beca raises her eyebrows at him, still pressing a smile.

"Hey, dude." She greets with just as little enthusiasm as she did the first time.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"So, Jesse," Emily jumps back in, sending Beca a coy little smile from the corner of her mouth, to let her know that she's jumping in to save her before Jesse gets too googly-eyed. "Is there football practice tonight?"

How someone like Jesse got on the team is BEYOND Beca, although she's fairly certain he's just a benchwarmer.

Jesse blinks up a storm, pulling his eyes away from Beca and glancing at his sister. "No, not tonight. Never on Fridays."

The bell signalling the end of lunch hour rings then- a welcome sound in Beca's ears, and she practically springs to her feet. Even if it does mean her last hour will be spent in that stupid, stupid 'D' Block classroom. She waves a hasty goodbye to Emily, and in turn, to Jesse- again, only to be polite- and cruises in the direction of Mrs. Abernathy's room, only stopping to wait for Amy after she rounds the corner. For a moment, she considers going to her locker to grab her headphones, but considering Mrs. Abernathy has never really been anything but kind to her- if not just occasionally the woman will make a bizarre remark of some kind, but that was just how she seemed to be. The few times she'd, for example, tell Beca that she was " _punk_ ", or that she could " _potentially amount to something_ ", Beca had certainly been thrown off guard but hadn't taken it personally, because similar things had been said to everyone from her. She really felt no reason to be outright rude to the woman.

Amy meets her a moment later, with a wide, unbothered grin. Once more, it occurs to Beca how absolutely baffled she is as to how the other two girls could be so stress-free about the evening before.

She feels about the same when she slumps into her new seat when she sees the diagram Mrs. Abernathy had drawn upon the chalkboard. Seating arrangements of the girls who had paired together the day before. Which means hers was next to Chloe, behind the small table towards the left of the room. The tables were a new addition, actually. She thinks they're from the textiles room.

Amy appears less affected by the change, dropping down in her assigned seat- two tables to Beca's right- but Beca keeps herself sullen. She crosses her arms on the desk and drops her head into the crook of her elbow, watching the girls slowly trickle into the room. Aubrey and Chloe arrive together, laughing about something, but quickly their expressions shift into something a shade more unsuspecting as they regard the diagram. And they part, with a shrug and a smile- on Chloe's part- and a scowl on Aubrey's. And Beca doesn't usually make it a habit to agree with Posen, but she was glad to see someone who looked about as happy at this whole ordeal as she was. And the last person she was expecting to find solace was in Aubrey Posen, but, stranger things may happen.

Actually, they probably already have.

Chloe practically skips over to their new seating arrangement, and Beca can't help but idly wonder if her chipper disposition is nothing more than a ruse, or if, somehow, she genuinely is that happy all the time. It's hard to imagine. Her smile shrinks a little, though, as she gets to her seat and slips in, brilliant blues darting over at Beca a few times, as she gently places her bag down at her feet.

Because of their lack of similarities, or their lack of knowledge with one another, or something, Chloe doesn't make an attempt to speak to her. Or vice versa. And Beca can appreciate that, too. She's not really in the mood, so they just listen- or Chloe does, Beca doesn't- while Mrs. Abernathy goes on about something called Bellas and that's about as far as Beca gets. There are permission slips handed out. Beca takes one, folds it up, sticks it in her pocket. the last half-hour is dedicated to planning their assignments. It's only then that Chloe turns to her.

"So," The girl idly scratches the spot behind her ear, before tucking away loose red curls and pulling her notebook out of her bag. She flips to an empty page, Beca doesn't press her to continue. For a moment, she doesn't think the girl will. "with this thing," She finally goes on, clicking the button at the end of her pen. "When do you think we should do it? Like, Christmas, or- do you just want to get it over with and do it sooner?"

Sighing, Beca brings both of her hands up to her chest, leaning back in her seat. "I don't care." Beca had tried to make a point to convey this to the girl last time they spoke. "I thought the deal was that you'd do this?"

Chloe raises her eyebrows, a hint of incredulity shadowing her face. "The deal?"

And she understands that she just came off like a bit of a dick. She also isn't keen on looking like a useless slacker, even if that isn't entirely untrue. Propping her elbow up on the table, Beca rests her head in her hand and goes over how to backpedal, while still getting the point across. "I just, I mean- I thought you were cool with doing most of the planning parts?"

Chloe blinks at her for a moment. "I am." And then she's putting on a wide smile, closing her eyes and bringing her hand up to her forehead. "Sorry I just-" Now it's Beca's turn to raise her brows. Chloe had no reason to apologize. "I actually tried to call you last night, so I could get all this stuff together."

She'd almost forgotten that she gave Chloe her number. "Oh." What would her mother had done if she picked up the phone, confused with who she'd found on the other end?

Chloe laughs like she's embarrassed, sheepish having to admit that she'd called, which is another thing Beca sort of recoils about. This girl was popular- definitely more well-liked with their peers than she was- Beca doesn't think she's ever observed her being shy. She didn't seem like the kind of person who would be. Beca had only ever seen her confident, talking among the guys and other girls on her pedestal. Maybe it's a direct result of being removed from Aubrey.

"I just wanted to know when you wanted to have it, and maybe some opinions on food we could make? 'Cause we have to give Mrs. Abernathy our dates today."

"Sure, um," Rubbing her temple, Beca gazes around the room. "Getting it done sooner is fine with me. No opinion on foods."

Twisting her lips lightly, Chloe keeps her eyes fixed on Beca a moment longer. She can only actually see the girl in her periphery, but she can feel the eyes more than anything else. "Okay." She looks down at her notepad, clicking her pen a few times and beginning to write.

Beca leans back in her chair. She felt cooperative enough, even if there's an inkling in the back of her mind that's telling her she's _still_ being a dick. Absently, she watches the motion of Chloe's wrist as she writes; each letter slow and purposeful, as if she's trying to eat up time. Beca couldn't blame her. She glances down at the bag at her feet, wondering if she should inquire about Chloe potentially having another pen, and therefore, she might be able to put herself to use for something. She doesn't really see another pen, but there's the spine of a book poking out.

' _The History of Barden_ '. Snooze alert. Will Beca have to learn about that in History class? Is Chloe in a different History class that Beca doesn't know about? Because she certainly isn't in her secnod period one, with Mrs. Fairbrother. Was Chloe reading that by choice?

" _The History of Barden_?" Beca queries lightly, but she's unable to keep the condescending perplexion out of her voice.

Chloe glances at her over her shoulder, a shallow crease between her brows. Blue eyes flicker from Beca, and she cranes her neck to check her bag. "Yeah?"

"What made you want to read that?" It just seems incredibly bizarre to her. "Are you in a different History class?"

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Chloe clicks her pen a few more times- Beca wonders without thinking if it's a nervous habit- before setting it back down against the desk. "I'm just reading it." She hedges after a moment, but something in her voice doesn't sound entirely convincing.

"Just reading it?" She echoes, arching a brow. "Are you super into cattle ranching or something?" And she feels it, the mocking pull of a smile before she can think to smother it.

She's not an asshole. Really. She may often be giving herself and others reasons to think she is, but she's not. She's just occasionally a real jerk. It might just be her sense of humor, or maybe it's her penchant for pessimism that has her coming off like the world's biggest dickwad. But she can't stop herself, even when she feels the twang in her chest of when it dawns on her that she might be coming off wrong.

Knitting her fingers together, Chloe furrows her brow. "So what if I am?" She doesn't really sound that bothered, though. Her voice carries more of a challenging lilt than anything else.

Feeling her cheeks pull into a sardonic kind of grin, she remarks. "Kinda lame."

Chloe purses her lips, the moment before they part, as she considers Beca's words.

"Excuse me?" The voice doesn't come out of Chloe's mouth, however. Furrowing her brow, Beca swivels her head around to find Aubrey leering down over her; expression hard and set in stone. Her green eyes meet Beca's own and she presses a smile. "Hi." She doesn't really sound all that welcoming.

"Um." Her sudden presence, accompanied by her pissed-off Posen look- still not far from her regular look- definitely doesn't sit well with her. Chloe also has the look on her face that Beca's mom always makes when she drives through a pothole in the road. "H-?"

"So, midget." Aubrey's brusque display of distaste isn't exactly met with surprise from Beca. "What are you doing?"

Beca's mind backtracks, trying to pinpoint the area in which this hostility could be coming from. She expects it's from calling Chloe lame- which, in her humble opinion, doesn't necessarily warrant a personal pitbull attack, but, hey. That's just how life is sometimes. "Just trying to get to know my partner a little better, that's all." The girl must have been over here quicker than The Flash though, if that was the case. Maybe she ought to rethink.

"Aubrey," Chloe interjects softly, blue eyes silently pleading up at the brooding classmate they were becoming acquainted with. Chloe, however, is met with minimal if any recognition.

"Okay, well," The blonde says slowly. "Lay off, alright?"

And she's way too tired for this. Sighing, she raises her hands up to her chest. "Just joking around, Posen." She'd like to ask if Aubrey even knows what a joke is. The thought makes her smirk. "No harm no foul."

"Aubrey it's fine-"

God she fucking hates these two. Especially Posen.

And now those green eyes flicker past Beca, scrutinizing Chloe before they dip down to look in her bag. Interestingly enough, Chloe seems to notice this, and shifts her feet surreptitiously in an attempt to block it from the other girl's line of sight.

"I know it's hard for you," Aubrey continues then, gaze snapping back to Beca. "to not be an absolute ass, but at least try."

Not at all helping her image, Beca gives the girl a mock salute before she can even think about it. Not that she's really sorry. "Got it, captain. I'll keep my ass-ness on a simmer."

Murder is a look. Beca's seen it. Right now, in this moment; which amuses her even further, for some reason, considering this is just a prime example of the girl's regular psychotic breaks.

"Don't provoke her." Chloe bemoans, exasperated and under her breath, but it's enough for Beca to hear. And Aubrey, clearly, in the way she throws said look in her friend's direction. Beca kind of can't help but show her incredulity in her expression, either, when she turns to the girl. Chloe sighs, catching ahold of the looks being thrown at her and throwing her hands into the air. "Both of you! Cut it out." She says helplessly, before placing her hands down against the table. "It doesn't matter. I don't see what the problem is," The last part of her sentence seems to be directed at Aubrey, and Beca swivels again to gauge the girl's reaction.

There isn't much of one. Aubrey just sets her jaw and resentfully eyes Beca once again, before harrumphing and turning heel; prowling back to her shared table with Stacie. That could be a reason for a pole up her ass, Beca thinks. Her rivalry with Stacie.

When she's down and pouting in her seat again, Chloe lets out a long exhale. "Sorry." The girl mutters beside her. "I don't know her issue today."

"Oh," Beca chirps. "Do you _usually_ know her issue?"

Chloe throws her some daggers, albeit weak ones. They lack any real malice, only conveying a bit of exhaustion or further exasperation. "She can be fine."

" _Can be_." Beca repeats, lolling her head from side to side thoughtfully. "Not _usually_ is?"

"Not everyone is." Chloe picks up her pen again, dropping the final word on the subject. Beca allows that. In her experience, actually, Chloe is right; most people aren't. 

* * *

Chloe isn't sure what has gotten under Aubrey's skin today. Ever since their awkward exchange in the locker room this morning, she'd been trying to give the girl a bit of space. Aubrey still helped her in English class, however; quietly guiding her through Ms. Gendron's assigned passages of Macbeth. But she wasn't expecting the girl to come over to the table and verbally try to rip Beca's head off.

Chloe had no problem with Beca. She could tell the girl wasn't being entirely serious when she called the book lame. Besides, Chloe couldn't care less whether or not she thought it was lame; it _was_. She knew that. Tom had pretty much said the same thing, too.

"Chloe." Aubrey says sharply, striding her way next to Chloe as she headed for her locker. Chloe has to actually take a deep breath before stopping to allow Aubrey to her side. In all honesty; she was a little bit upset with the girl.

And if Aubrey was going to come get on _her_ next, Chloe is definitely going to be on the the receiving end of a migraine. Her immediate response is to ask Aubrey what it is that she wants, but the little voice inside her head warns her that she'd regret doing that; so she chokes down any irritation in her before simply greeting the girl as she falls into step beside her.

Said irritation is flaring again, however, when Aubrey stops her by placing a hand on her wrist and uses the opposite hand to hoist up the strap of Chloe's bag. "What is this?" Aubrey accuses, nodding down to the book poking out of the top. "What are you doing?"

Huffing, Chloe carefully yanks the bag back to herself. "Nothing." And offers the blonde a pleading look. "Just reading up."

Aubrey blinks like she doesn't understand, but doesn't stop her examining glare. "What? Why?"

"Why not? Chill out, Aubrey, don't get yourself worked up."

She holds face for another beat. Typical stubborn Aubrey. But she drops it with a sigh after a moment. "Since when?" She asks softly, and Chloe cocks her head to the side uncertainly. "Since when have you just wanted to start reading about... _Barden History_ , of all things?" It's evident that she's still wary, but she's trying to tone it down; which Chloe can at least appreciate. Aubrey doesn't like change. Especially not when it's sudden, and if she isn't involved in it.

Chloe shrugs. She won't bring up the urban legend, she'll just be berated on it. It's stupidity. In actuality, Chloe was even considering going up to the old farmhouse, if she can find anything eligible. "I don't know. I just think it can't hurt to try to improve it," It's a bit of a lie. But there was a grain of truth to it. "I mean, I'm in the twelfth grade for God's sake." She laughs easily, trying to ease Aubrey's discomfort.

But Aubrey's a smart girl. She could probably catch a lie from a mile away. And even though she's a pusher, she might let it slide. "Yeah... but... _Barden history?_ Really? You wouldn't want to pick something more interesting?" She shrugs again. Aubrey twists her lips for a moment, backing off a bit. "Well... okay." Thank goodness. "Do you need a ride home?"  
 _  
Oh no not this again_. "No, that's alright Aubs." Chloe shakes her head, pulling herself into a walk again. "I talked to dad this morning already. He's gonna get me in a bit."

Aubrey's brows furrow a bit, and she looks like she's deciding between whether or not she wants to argue further. She decides against it. "Okay..." She says slowly, moving past Chloe towards her own locker.

The librarian had suggested that Chloe try the public library yesterday. So, that's where she was going today; to see if she could get her hands on any public documents about the early years of founding. She probably hasn't been to the public library since she was eleven, when she used to check out the movie selection for free; but her gameplan is to pretty much just ask the librarian if public records is an actual thing or if it's just like that in movies.

She uses the back western door to leave, shouldering her backpack and heading for the cement stairs down the hill. The smokers pit was empty, and Chloe can happily pass through to the stairs without suffocating. She'd waited for Aubrey to drive away before she'd left, just to make sure the girl wouldn't linger and continue her interrogation session; so, by the time she got going, most of the students had left.

Chloe crosses the bridge, walking past the legion and the dollar store, the liquor store, stopping to tie her shoe before crossing the road. And that's when she sees it. Again. The sunlight glinting off of the red paint of an old Mustang, parked outside of The Blue Jar.

It fills Chloe with a sense of satisfaction to know that Luke had actually taken her suggestions to heart. It almost makes her feel smug. Smug enough to slip the backpack off of her shoulders and fish around until she finds her wallet, biting into her bottom lip as she heads towards the front doors. The little bell jingles as she pulls it open, and she sees the chalkboard always set by the front door listing the specials of the day. But she's just getting coffee. And scoping. _Definitely_ scoping. She spots Luke sitting in a booth by himself near the back, with a mug in front of him, and a sandwich on a plate. Chloe orders from the barista and when the girl hands her her latte, Chloe thanks her and drops some spare change into the tip jar before swallowing her nerves.

Luke hadn't noticed her. He has earbuds in, Chloe had spotted, and he seemed to be pretty preoccupied with his phone. And it's not like Chloe is that nervous. Talking to boys had never made her that nervous- not even when they're hunky British guys- that's what she's telling herself, at least. She'd always had a knack for talking to guys- again, _most_ of the time- they're just people, after all.

Taking one last deep breath, Chloe uses that to kickstart her into moving again, and she slides into the seat across from him. Startled, he looks up; one hand automatically rising to pull off an earbud as his eyes flicker up to see who has joined him. They soften quickly as he looks her over; one corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk as he removes the remaining earbud. Chloe greets him coolly.

"You stalking me?" He says through his smirk, tucking his chin towards his chest and setting his phone down against the tabletop.

"Hard to miss the car." It's not a lie. It's actually the complete truth. Luke lets out a small laugh.

"Yeah, that thing is my prized possession," He admits, seagreen eyes dipping towards the ground for a moment. The silence settles for a moment, but just barely, before he taps the side of his mug with his thumb. "You're right, the coffee here IS pretty good."

Chloe smiles. "It's the best around here, anyway. If you ask me."

Luke smiles back, politely hailing down a passing waitress. The girl stops in her tracks quickly; balancing a tray of dishes in her hands, she glances over at Chloe. "Oh, I'm sorry, can I get you anything?"

She shakes her head in response. "No thanks, I'm okay. I only just sat down." She tries to alleviate the girl's guilt; because she looks like she felt sorry for missing Chloe. "I've got a coffee." As emphasis, she shakes it a little in her hands.

"I'll actually grab two milkshakes, though," Luke interjects, sending Chloe a sly wink and the waitress a warm smile. "Please, if that's alright." Chloe eyes him, pretending to be skeptic but in all honesty she's endeared by his manners and his bold nature. The waitress tells them certainly, with a mushy kind of grin that Chloe is trying hard not to mirror, and she asks what flavour he would like. Pursing his lips, Luke raises his eyebrows sheepishly. "Ah, the blue kind?" The girl laughs.

"Got it. I'll be right back."

Once she's whisked off again, Luke turns back to her. "So, anyways, what brings you around here today? Other than the car,"

"I was actually heading to the library."

"Oh, the library?" He raises his eyebrows. "Where is that, anyway?"

He must have just moved here, Chloe wonders. And then she remembers that he was staying at the motel, so he mustn't have a place. "It's just across the street from the grocery store." Bringing her cup to her lips, she tentatively blows the steam for a moment before taking a small sip. "So, if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing in Barden?"

Luke's smile pulls wider as he settles back in the booth. "My sister lives here, actually. I don't know her that well, but I'd like to spend more time with her." He admits, and something in Chloe's heart warms. "Besides, I'm starting up a radio business here, and helping out an old buddy."

Chloe nods. "Wow, there's a lot going on for you here, then."

"Yeah," He taps his thumbs against the tabletop. "I'm looking for a place to rent in the meantime. For now, though," His eyes flicker and hold Chloe's for a long moment, offering up a sheepish grin. "that motel is home." When he looks away, Chloe releases the breath she hadn't noticed had been suffocating her. "Do you work there?"

"Kinda." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she watches Luke's eyebrow arch inquisitively. "My parents own it, and the diner. So sometimes I just clean up the rooms." He nods along.

"That must be kind of interesting. Meet some shifty characters?"

She has, actually. The occasional weirdo comes in; there was the creepy guy with the mullet that still gives her goosebumps. But, where's the fun in that? "None shiftier than you." She teases, bringing the cup back to her lips again. Faux affonted, Luke's mouth drops open.

"What have I done?" He laughs, pulling his lips back into a smirk. Chloe offers a shrug, taking another sip. "I just bought you one of those blue milkshakes, you know. I'd watch who I was calling shifty."

"Yeah," Chloe lolls her head on her shoulders, setting the cup back down against the table. "Thank you for that."

Luke's head lolls forward in a modest nod. "That's more like it." He smooths down the front of his shirt, making a point of turning his nose up at her in a show of snobbery that Chloe knows is good-natured. A moment later, the waitress returns to the table with a milkshake in either hand, handing one to each of them in turn. Chloe thanks her, as does Luke, and she departs again. "So listen," Luke slides the tall metal glass towards himself, fiddling with the straw between his forefinger and thumb for a moment. "I know that a lady isn't supposed to reveal her true age and all," She quirks a brow. "but how old are you?"

A bad question. Not because of it's content- though Chloe does believe that the right of keeping ones age to themself for " _ladylike_ " purposes is reserved for anyone once they pass forty- but because she knows the answer isn't going to be what he wants to hear. He's definitely older than she is, by a good few years. "Seventeen." She's truthful; always is. Tries to be. There's no good reason to lie about this, so she isn't going to. Something very subtle shifts in Luke's expression. He's still looking at her, politely, kindly- but there's something that closes off behind his eyes, and Chloe sets her jaw so that she doesn't frown. "How old are _you_?" She asks, just to even the odds.

"Twenty-three this month." He grips the straw of his milkshake and takes a gulp, brow furrowed. Idly, she watches his reaction to the drink. He blinks up at her, gesturing to the treat in question. "This is good. What flavour is it?"

Chloe shrugs. "It's a mystery."

Luke hums. "The blue mystery shake, huh?" She nods, pulling in another sip for herself. "Anyways, Chloe," He then fishes around in the top pocket of his jacket, removing a small card from it's depths. "I'm looking for workers for my establishment, once it's set up." Classic grin. Chloe thinks that grin- the charming one- gets him a lot of whatever he's looking for. "So if you're interested, I'd love to have you. Or if there's anyone you know who's into music." He slides it over to her, under the weight of two fingertips. Chloe, uncertain how to respond, takes it.

"Thanks." It's a little bit of an effort to leave the questioning lilt out of her voice. Carefully, she slips the card into the back pocket of her jeans, but only after a moment of consideration.

"So, after this milkshake, I'll drive you to the library?"

Of course she takes the offer.

There's a few more interesting things she learns about him on the way.

* * *

Despite the panic, frustration, and general confusion Beca feels about the farmhouse situation, there's something she needs to admit to herself.

She's curious.

She really, truly, doesn't want to be. Forgetting about it seems like a far better option to her, and the one she'd rather take if she had a choice. Apparently, however, she doesn't. Because she can't stop thinking about the stupid thing. Work can't even take her mind off of it, all she can obsess about is returning to the scene of her unintentional crime.

She's training stupid, God damn Aurora Sabyan- the little thirteen year old who got knocked up last year in some town scandal- who also, Beca is certain, might actually be the incarnate of Satan himself. Even above Aubrey and Stacie. Which is saying something for her.

"I don't care if you're Miss Congeniality in the pageant," God knows how _that_ happened. Probably pity. But the stubborn doorknob of a girl refuses to do anything, and Beca is wishing she'd just get fired already. At this point, she doesn't really care if _she_ gets fired, because deep down she knows she won't. She's the most senior worker at The Clucky Hut. "You _have_ to fry chicken. That's the freaking job." Practically shoving the spatula into the girl's pudgy little hands, she stomps away. They'd been at it for about five whole minutes, and she might actually throw something if she doesn't leave the kitchen.

Taking a deep breath in through her nose, Beca rounds the corner of the kitchen and takes a seat in front of the cash register. She'd give Aurora ten minutes, she tells herself. There's not a customer in the store, so she can sit and stew in peace, glancing at the clock on the wall to gauge the time.

Before the hands can reach the ten minute mark, however, she's being jolted from her train of thought as the bell over the door jingles. Two officers- she recognizes them, but couldn't tell anyone their names if they asked- come waltzing in, talking good-naturedly. _That's a good sign_ , she thinks, straightening out her red and yellow Clucky Hut hat as she stands to greet them.

One of them is the young officer that had barked at her on the hill where Denise's body was found, the other is a mid-forties man with a giant beer-belly who she thinks might be the sheriff. They order a tub of chicken and the young guy orders a chicken wrap, as well.

Everything here is fucking chicken.

And they aren't suspicious, not even a little as Beca takes their orders, but that doesn't stop her heart from pretty much causing her to go deaf in her ears, and acting like a total fucking creep, she's sure. Actually, she can't get back to train in the kitchen with Aurora fast enough.

She finds the girl sulking over the fryer, giving her an exaggerated pout and stink eye when Beca enters the space again. They usually have about thirty legs of chicken pre-done for buckets, and there's just enough to fill a tub this time, but she waits impatiently for one of the breasts to come out of Aurora's fryer.

They must know about the farmhouse. There's no way they couldn't. Amy and Emily called the fire department, and that would undergo an investigation. Unless they deemed that the old building finally just combusted somehow? Old wiring? No, houses that old don't have wiring.

She busies herself with getting the rest of the wrap prepared, so that when the breast comes out, Beca hastily finishes up. Her hands are shaking. They shouldn't be. She's too nervous.

"You don't think it has anything to do with what happened, do you?"

Beca hears it as she's holding the tub in her arms, the bag with the wrap rested on top of it. It's the young one, his voice low. The humor that shrouded it when he entered was gone. Beca halts for a moment, tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of her mouth.

"No, I don't think so." The older one replies, and Beca lets out a puff before rounding the corner again all the way, trying to look at them as nonchalantly as possible. "I mean, we can't say no exactly right now, but I don't think so."

Good, this is good.

She sets the food down on the counter and goes to the register, silently ringing up the price. It takes her a moment to work up the courage to ask if they were paying together or separate, but when she does, she's impressed by how steady her voice sounds. The men glance at each other uncertainly, before the older one shrugs. "Together." He says, and Beca nods.

"But I mean, it's a little fishy, don't you think?" The younger one presses. "You've heard the stories, right? Kids that go up there, worship Satan and all of that," The older cop shoots him a sharp, reproving look. The sort of look that suggests he ought to shut the fuck up. Beca tells them their price, and he begrudgingly pulls out his credit card. "I'm just saying. Some dark shit. Oh, sorry, pardon my language."

"Just stories." The older one mumbles, his face had definitely hardened. Something tightens in her gut. "Kids are vandals, that's all." He punches in his code, fat fingers crunching down on the buttons. "We're still looking into it, though. It's too soon to say anything for sure." And then he eyes Beca from under his brows, and she averts her gaze quickly. The odd feeling like she's eavesdropping surrounds her, but she knows that they _must_ understand that there's no way that she _couldn't_ hear what they were talking about.

Tugging at the collar of her uniform, Beca waits for the information of his card to go through. The younger officer grimaces, unconvinced. The machine beeps and Beca holds in her sigh of relief. "Would you like a copy of your receipt?"

"No thank you." The man grunts, giving her yet another once-over. She smiles awkwardly.

"Okay, have a nice day."

The officers leave, and it's not until the door is swinging shut behind them that she's letting out that shaky lungful of air. Through the glass doors,she watches them as they enter their squad car.

The older one wasn't convinced. That's good. But if the younger guy is more keen on seeing if there's a connection- which there really isn't- then there's a chance he could persuade them to do a more thorough investigation. And she shouldn't be worrying, not on the verge of panicking, about them finding anything to connect her to Denise, because there w _as_ absolutely nothing. But she _is_ worrying. _Is_ too close to panicking.

"I'm going on my break!" Beca hollers at Aurora. The heat in the building was beginning to prove too much for her, because she felt like she was going to suffocate and there's a thin, clammy layer of sweat forming at her temple.

The timing of everything happening is unbearable. Denise, the famrhouse, fucking Luke. She should have just had graduation and that stupid 'D' block class to be occupying her thoughts.

Of course senior year wasn't going to be that simple. Who was she trying to kid?

The air on the other side of the doors is crisp, and fresh, and feels like cold water being dumped on her but it's never been more welcome. Cursing under her breath, Beca runs a hand down the length of her face, slumping down on the single picnic table outside. There's more clamor from the gas station next door, but the Clucky Hut is barren, as far as customers go. Beca can't wait until the place goes down the drain, because that's where it's headed.

Groaning, she buries her face in her elbow and slumps forward, trying to focus on her breathing as she shuts her eyes. Just the cool air. Smells like dew, old rain. Always what Barden smells like when it isn't snowing.

"Care if I join you?"

There's no way to not recognize the voice, and her gut instinct is to say hell no. But she doesn't.


End file.
